[LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

I       SAN  DIEGO      j 


--.*f»* 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


"RINTED  IN  U.S 


"_I  CONQUERED" 


Page  96 

The  Captain  tore  at  the  shoulders  and  reck  of  the  gray  horse  with 
his  gleaming  teclli 


"I  Conquered 


By  HAROLD  TITUS 


With  Frontispiece  in  Colors 
By  CHARLES  M.  RUSSEU* 


A.    L.    BURT   COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangements  with  RAND.  MCNALLY  &  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1916, 
By  RAND  MCNALLY  &  COMPANY 


THE   CONTENTS 


I.     DENUNCIATION 7 

II.  A  YOUNG  MAN  GOES  WEST      .     .      .21 

III.  "I'VE  DONE  MY  PICKIN"'   ....     36 

IV.  THE  TROUBLE  HUNTER 48 

V.    JED  PHILOSOPHIZES 62 

VI.    AMBITION  Is  BORN 74 

VII.    WITH  HOOP  AND  TOOTH 89 

VIII.  A  HEAD  OF  YELLOW  HAIR  ....     98 

IX.     PURSUIT 106 

X.    CAPTURE 120 

XI.  A  LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE    .     .      .131 

XII.     WOMAN  WANTS 141 

XIII.  VB  FIGHTS 151 

XIV.  THE  SCHOOLHOUSE  DANCE    .     .      .      .163 
XV.     MURDER 181 

XVI.    THE  CANDLE  BURNS 192 

XVII.     GREAT  MOMENTS 201 

XVIII.     THE  LIE 2x4 

XIX.    THROUGH  THE  NIGHT 226 

XX.     THE  LAST  STAND 235 

XXL    GUNS  CRASH 245 

XXII.  TABLES  TURN;  AND  TURN  AGAIN   .      .254 

XXIII.     LIFE,  THE  TROPHY 265 

XXIV.     VICTORY 276 

XXV.     "THE  LIGHT!" 290 

XXVI.     To  THE  VICTOR 297 


"_  I  CONQUERED" 

CHAPTER  I 

DENUNCIATION 

DANNY  LENOX  wanted  a  drink.  The  desire 
came  to  him  suddenly  as  he  stood  looking 
down  at  the  river,  burnished  by  bright  young  day. 
It  broke  in  on  his  lazy  contemplation,  wiped  out 
the  indulgent  smile,  and  made  the  young  face 
serious,  purposeful,  as  though  mighty  consequence 
depended  on  satisfying  the  urge  that  had  just 
come  up  within  him. 

He  was  the  sort  of  chap  to  whom  nothing  much 
had  ever  mattered,  whose  face  generally  bore 
that  kindly,  contented  smile.  His  grave  con 
sideration  had  been  aroused  by  only  a  scant 
variety  of  happenings  from  the  time  of  a  pam 
pered  childhood  up  through  the  gamut  of  bubbling 
boyhood,  prep  school,  university,  polo,  clubs,  and 
a  growing  popularity  with  a  numerous  clan  until 
he  had  approached  a  state  of  established  and 
widely  recognized  worthlessness. 

Economics  did  not  bother  him.  It  mattered 
not  how  lavishly  he  spent ;  there  had  always  been 
more  forthcoming,  because  Lenox  senior  had  a 
world  of  the  stuff.  The  driver  of  his  taxicab  — 


8  "_I    CONQUERED" 

just  now  whirling  away  —  seemed  surprised  when 
Danny  waved  back  change,  but  the  boy  did 
not  bother  himself  with  thought  of  the  bill  he 
had  handed  over. 

Nor  did  habits  which  overrode  established 
procedure  for  men  cause  him  to  class  himself 
apart  from  the  mass.  He  remarked  that  the 
cars  zipping  past  between  him  and  the  high 
river  embankment  were  stragglers  in  the  morn 
ing  flight  businessward ;  but  he  recognized  no 
difference  between  himself  and  those  who  scooted 
toward  town,  intent  on  the  furtherance  of  seri 
ous  ends. 

What  might  be  said  or  thought  about  his 
obvious  deviation  from  beaten,  respected  paths 
was  only  an  added  impulse  to  keep  smiling  with 
careless  amiability.  It  might  be  commented 
on  behind  fans  in  drawing  rooms  or  through 
mouths  full  of  food  in  servants'  halls,  he  knew. 
But  it  did  not  matter. 

However  —  something  mattered.  He  wanted 
a  drink. 

And  it  was  this  thought  that  drove  away  the 
smile  and  set  the  lines  of  his  face  into  seriousness, 
that  sent  him  up  the  broad  walk  with  swinging, 
decisive  stride,  his  eyes  glittering,  his  lips  taking 
moisture  from  a  quick-moving  tongue.  He  needed 
a  drink! 

Danny  entered  the  Lenox  home  up  there  on 
the  sightly  knoll,  fashioned  from  chill- white 
stone,  staring  composedly  down  on  the  drive 


DENUNCIATION  9 

from  its  many  black-rimmed  windows.  The 
heavy  front  door  shut  behind  him  with  a  muf 
fled  sound  like  a  sigh,  as  though  it  had  been 
waiting  his  coming  all  through  the  night,  just 
as  it  had  through  so  many  nights,  and  let  sup 
pressed  breath  slip  out  in  relief  at  another  return. 

A  quick  step  carried  him  across  the  vestibule 
within  sight  of  the  dining-room  doorway.  He 
flung  his  soft  hat  in  the  general  direction  of  a 
cathedral  bench,  loosed  the  carelessly  arranged 
bow  tie,  and  with  an  impatient  jerk  unbuttoned 
the  soft  shirt  at  nis  full  throat.  Of  all  things, 
from  conventions  to  collars,  Danny  detested  those 
which  bound.  And  just  now  his  throat  seemed  to 
be  swelling  quickly,  to  be  pulsing;  and  already 
the  glands  of  his  mouth  responded  to  the  thought 
of  that  which  was  on  the  buffet  in  a  glass  decanter 
—  amber  —  and  clear  —  and  — 

At  the  end  of  the  hallway  a  door  stood  open, 
and  Danny's  glance,  passing  into  the  room  it 
disclosed,  lighted  on  the  figure  of  a  man  stooping 
over  a  great  expanse  of  table,  fumbling  with 
papers  —  fumbling  a  bit  slowly,  as  with  age,  the 
boy  remarked  even  in  the  flash  of  a  second  his 
mind  required  to  register  a  recognition  of  his 
father. 

Danny  stopped.  The  yearning  of  his  throat, 
the  call  of  his  tightening  nerves,  lost  potency  for 
the  moment;  the  glitter  of  desire  in  his  dark  eyes 
softened  quickly.  He  threw  back  his  handsome 
he  ad  with  a  gesture  of  affection  that  was  almost 


io  "_I    CONQUERED" 

girlish,  in  spite  of  its  muscular  strength,  and  the 
smile  came  back,  softer,  more  indulgent. 

His  brow  clouded  a  scant  instant  when  he 
turned  to  look  into  the  dining  room  as  he  walked 
down  the  long,  dark,  high-ceilinged  hall,  and  his 
step  hesitated.  But  he  put  the  impulse  off, 
going  on,  with  shoulders  thrown  back,  rubbing 
his  palms  together  as  though  wholesomely  happy. 

So  he  passed  into  the  library. 

"Well,  father,  it's  a  good  morning  to  you!" 

At  the  spontaneous  salutation  the  older  man 
merely  ceased  moving  an  instant.  He  remained 
bent  over  the  table,  one  hand  arrested  in  the 
act  of  reaching  for  a  document.  It  was  as 
though  he  held  his  breath  to  listen  —  or  to  cal 
culate  quickly. 

The  son  walked  across  to  him,  approaching 
from  behind,  and  dropped  a  hand  on  the  stooping, 
black-clothed  shoulder. 

"How  go—  " 

Danny  broke  his  query  abruptly,  for  the  other 
straightened  with  a  half -spoken  word  that  was, 
at  the  least,  utmost  impatience;  possibly  a  word 
which,  fully  uttered,  would  have  expressed  dis 
gust,  perhaps  —  even  loathing!  And  on  Danny 
was  turned  such  a  mask  as  he  had  never  seen 
before.  The  cleanly  shaven  face  was  dark.  The 
cold  blue  eyes  flashed  a  chill  fire  and  the  grim 
slit  of  a  tightly  closed  mouth  twitched,  as  did 
the  fingers  at  the  skirts  of  the  immaculate  coat. 

Lenox  senior  backed  away,  putting  out  a  hand 


DENUNCIATION  u 

to  the  table,  edging  along  until  a  corner  of  it 
was  between  himself  and  his  heir.  Then  the 
hand,  fingers  stiffly  extended,  pressed  against 
the  table  top.  It  trembled. 

The  boy  flushed,  then  smiled,  then  sobered.  On 
the  thought  of  what  seemed  to  him  the  certain 
answer  to  the  strangeness  of  this  reception,  his 
voice  broke  the  stillness,  filled  with  solicitude. 

"Did  I  startle  you?"  he  asked,  and  a  smile 
broke  through  his  concern.  "You  jumped  as 
though — " 

Again  he  broke  short.  His  father's  right  hand, 
palm  outward,  was  raised  toward  him  and  moved 
quickly  from  side  to  side.  That  gesture  meant 
silence!  Danny  had  seen  it  used  twice  before 
-  once  when  a  man  of  political  power  had  let 
his  angered  talk  rise  in  the  Lenox  house  until 
it  became  disquieting;  once  when  a  man  came 
there  to  plead.  And  the  gesture  on  those  occa 
sions  had  carried  the  same  quiet,  ominous  con 
viction  that  it  now  impressed  on  Danny. 

The  voice  of  the  old  man  was  cold  and  hard, 
almost  brittle  for  lack  of  feeling. 

"How  much  will  you  take  to  go?"  he  asked, 
and  breathed  twice  loudly,  as  though  struggling 
to  hold  back  a  bursting  emotion. 

Danny  leaned  slightly  forward  from  his  hips 
and  wrinkled  his  face  in  his  inability  to  under 
stand. 

"What?"  He  drawled  out  the  word.  "Once 
more,  please?" 


12  "__I    CONQUERED" 

"How  much  will  you  take  to  go?" 

Again  the  crackling,  colorless  query,  by  its 
chill  strength  narrowing  even  the  thought  which 
must  transpire  in  the  presence  of  the  speaker. 

' '  How  much  will  I  take  to  go  ? "  repeated  Danny. 
"How  much  what?  To  go  where?" 

Lenox  senior  blinked,  and  his  face  darkened. 
His  voice  lost  some  of  its  edge,  became  a  trifle 
muffled,  as  though  the  emotion  he  had  breathed 
hard  to  suppress  had  come  up  into  his  throat  and 
adhered  gummily  to  the  words. 

' '  How  much  money  —  how  much  money  will 
you  take  to  go  away  from  here  ?  Away  from  me  ? 
Away  from  New  York  ?  Out  of  my  sight  —  out 
of  my  way?" 

Once  more  the  fingers  pressed  the  table  top 
and  the  fighting  jaw  of  the  gray-haired  man 
protruded  slowly  as  the  younger  drew  nearer 
a  faltering  step,  two  —  three,  until  he  found 
support  against  the  table. 

There  across  the  corner  of  the  heavy  piece  of 
furniture  they  peered  at  each  other;  one  in  silent, 
mighty  rage;  the  other  with  eyes  widening, 
quick,  confusing  lights  playing  across  their  depths 
as  he  strove  to  refuse  the  understanding. 

' '  How  much  money  —  to  go  away  from  New 
York  —  from  you?  Out  of  your  way?" 

Young  Danny's  voice  rose  in  pitch  at  each 
word  as  with  added  realization  the  strain  on  his 
emotions  increased.  His  body  sagged  forward 
and  the  hands  on  the  table  bore  much  of  its 


DENUNCIATION  13 

weight;  so  much  that  the  elbows  threatened  to 
give,  as  had  his  knees. 

"To  go  away  —  why ?     Why  —  is  this ? ' 

In  his  query  was  something  of  the  terror  of  a 
frightened  child;  in  his  eyes  something  of  the  look 
of  a  wounded  beast. 

"You  ask  me  why!" 

Lenox  senior  straightened  with  a  jerk  and  fol 
lowed  the  exclamation  with  something  that  had 
been  a  laugh  until,  driven  through  the  rage  within 
him,  it  became  only  a  rattling  rasp  in  his  throat. 

"You  ask  me  why!"  he  repeated.  "You  ask 
me  why!" 

His  voice  dropped  to  a  thin  whisper;  then, 
anger  carrying  it  above  its  normal  tone : 

"You  stand  here  in  this  room,  your  face  like 
suet  from  months  and  years  of  debauchery,  your 
mind  unable  to  catch  my  idea  because  of  the 
poison  you  have  forced  on  it,  because  of  the 
stultifying  thoughts  you  have  let  occupy  it, 
because  of  the  ruthless  manner  in  which  you  have 
wasted  its  powers  of  preception,  of  judgment, 
and  ask  me  why!" 

In  quick  gesture  he  leveled  a  vibrating  finger 
at  the  face  of  his  son  and  with  pauses  between  the 
words  declared :  ' '  You  —  are  —  why ! ' ' 

Danny's  elbows  bent  still  more  under  the 
weight  on  them,  and  his  lips  worked  as  he  tried 
to  force  a  dry  throat  through  the  motions  of 
swallowing.  On  his  face  was  reflected  just 
one  emotion  —  surprise.  It  was  not  rage, 


i4  "_I    CONQUERED" 

not  resentment,  not  shame,  not  fear  —  just 
surprise. 

He  was  utterly  confused  by  the  abruptness 
of  his  father's  attack;  he  was  unable  to  plumb 
the  depths  of  its  significance,  although  an  inher 
ent  knowledge  of  the  other's  moods  told  him 
that  he  faced  disaster. 

Then  the  older  man  was  saying: 

"You  have  stripped  yourself  of  everything 
that  God  and  man  could  give  you.  You  have 
thrown  the  gems  of  your  opportunity  before  your 
swinish  desires.  You  have  degenerated  from  the 
son  your  mother  bore  to  a  worthless,  ambition- 
less,  idealless,  thoughtless  —  drunkard!" 

Danny  took  a  half -step  closer  to  the  table, 
his  eyes  held  on  those  others  with  mechanical 
fixity. 

"Father  —  but,  dad-    '  he  tried  to  protest. 

Again  the  upraised,  commanding  palm. 

"I  have  stood  it  as  long  as  I  can.  I  have 
suggested  from  time  to  time  that  you  give  seri 
ous  consideration  to  things  about  you  and  to 
your  future;  suggested,  when  a  normal  young 
man  would  have  gone  ahead  of  his  own  volition 
to  meet  the  exigencies  every  individual  must 
face  sooner  or  later. 

"But  you  would  have  none  of  it!  From  your 
boyhood  you  have  been  a  waster.  I  hoped  once 
that  all  the  trouble  you  gave  us  was  evidence  of 
a  spirit  that  would  later  be  directed  toward  a 
good  end.  But  I  was  never  justified  in  that. 


DENUNCIATION  15 

"You  wasted  your  university  career.  Why, 
you  were  n't  even  a  good  athlete !  You  man 
aged  to  graduate,  but  only  to  befog  what  little 
hope  then  remained  to  me. 

"You  have  had  everything  you  could  want; 
you  had  money,  friends,  and  your  family  name. 
What  have  you  done?  Wasted  them!  You  had 
your  polo  string  and  the  ability  to  play  a  great 
game,  but  what  came  of  it?  You'd  rather  sit 
in  the  clubhouse  and  saturate  yourself  with  drink 
and  with  the  idle,  parasitic  thoughts  of  the  crowd 
there ! 

"You  have  dropped  low  and  lower  until,  every 
thing  else  gone,  you  are  now  wasting  the  last 
thing  that  belongs  to  you,  the  fundamental  thing 
in  life  —  your  vitality ! 

"Oh,  don't  try  to  protest!  Those  sacks  under 
your  eyes !  Your  shoulders  are  n't  as  straight 
as  they  were  a  year  ago;  you  don't  think  as 
quickly  as  you  did  when  making  a  pretense  of 
playing  polo;  your  hand  isn't  steady  for  a  man 
of  twenty-five.  You're  going;  you're  on  the 
toboggan  slide. 

"You  have  wasted  yourself,  flung  yourself 
away,  and  not  one  act  or  thought  of  your  experi 
ence  has  been  worth  the  candle !  Now  —  what 
will  you  take  to  get  out?" 

The  boy  before  him  moved  a  slow  step  back 
ward,  and  a  flush  came  up  over  his  drawn  face. 

"You —  '  he  began.  Then  he  stopped  and 
drew  a  hand  across  his  eyes,  beginning  the 


16  "__I    CONQUERED" 

movement  slowly  and  ending  with  a  savage  jerk. 
' '  You  never  said  a  word  before !  You  never  inti 
mated  you  thought  this !  You  never  —  you  - 

He  floundered  heavily  under  the  stinging  con 
viction  that  of  such  was  his  only  defense! 

"No!"  snapped  his  father,  after  waiting  for 
more  to  come.  "I  never  said  anything  before 
—  not  like  this.  You  smiled  away  whatever  I 
suggested.  Nothing  mattered  —  nothing  except 
debauchery.  Now  you've  passed  the  limit 
You're  a  common  drunk!" 

His  voice  rose  high  and  higher;  he  commenced 
to  gesticulate. 

"You  live  only  to  wreck  yourself.  Yours  is 
the  fault  —  and  the  blame ! 

"It  is  natural  for  me  to  be  concerned.  I've 
hung  on  now  too  long,  hoping  that  you  would 
right  yourself  and  justify  the  hopes  people  have 
had  in  you.  I  planned,  years  ago,  to  have  you 
take  up  my  work  where  I  must  soon  leave  off  - 
to  go  on  in  my  place,  to  finish  my  life  for  me  as 
I  began  yours  for  you!  I've  had  faith  that  you 
would  do  this,  but  you  won't  —  you  can't! 

"That  isn't  all.  You're  holding  me  back.  I 
must  push  on  now  harder  than  ever,  but  with 
the  stench  of  your  misdeeds  always  in  my  nos 
trils  it  is  almost  an  impossibility." 

Danny  raised  his  hands  in  a  half-gesture  of 
pleading,  but  the  old  man  motioned  him  back. 

"Don't  be  sorry;  don't  try  to  explain.  This 
had  to  come.  It's  an  accumulation  of  years. 


DENUNCIATION  17 

I  have  no  more  faith  in  you.  If  I  thought  you 
could  ever  rally  I'd  give  up  everything  and 
help  you,  but  not  once  in  your  life  have  you  shown 
me  that  you  possessed  one  impulse  to  be  of  use." 

His  voice  dropped  with  each  word,  and  its 
return  to  the  cold  normal  sent  a  stiffness  into  the 
boy's  spine.  His  head  went  up,  his  chin  out; 
his  hands  closed  slowly. 

"How  much  money  will  you  take  to  get  out?" 

The  old  man  moved  from  behind  the  table 
corner  and  approached  Danny,  walking  slowly, 
with  his  hands  behind  him.  He  came  to  a  stop 
before  the  boy,  slowly  unbuttoned  his  coat,  reached 
to  an  inner  pocket,  and  drew  out  a  checkbook. 

"How  much?" 

Danny's  gesture,  carried  out,  surely  would 
have  resulted  in  a  blow  strong  enough  to  send 
the  book  spinning  across  the  room ;  but  he  stopped 
it  halfway. 

His  eyes  were  puffed  and  bloodshot;  his  pulse 
hammered  loudly  under  his  ears,  and  the  rush 
of  blood  made  his  head  roar.  Before  him  floated 
a  mist,  fogging  thought  as  it  did  his  vision. 

The  boy's  voice  was  scarcely  recognizable  as 
he  spoke.  It  was  hard  and  cold  —  somewhat 
like  the  one  which  had  so  scourged  him. 

"Keep  your  money,"  he  said,  looking  squarely 
at  his  father  at  the  cost  of  a  peculiar,  unreal 
effort.  "I'll  get  out  —  and  without  your  help. 
Some  day  I'll  —  I '11  show  you  what  a  puny 
thing  this  faith  of  yours  is!" 
2 


i8  "_I    CONQUERED" 

The  elder  Lenox,  buttoning  his  coat  with  brisk 
motions,  merely  said,  "Very  well."  He  left  the 
room. 

Danny  heard  his  footsteps  cross  the  hall, 
heard  the  big  front  door  sigh  when  it  closed  as 
though  it  rejoiced  at  the  completion  of  a  dis 
tasteful  task. 

Then  he  shut  his  eyes  and  struck  his  thighs 
twice  with  stiff  forearms.  He  was  boiling,  blood 
and  brain!  At  first  he  thought  it  anger;  perhaps 
anger  had  been  there,  but  it  was  not  the  chief 
factor  of  that  tumult. 

It  was  humiliation.  The  horrid,  unanswerable 
truth  had  seared  Danny's  very  body — witness 
the  anguished  wrinkles  on  his  brow — and  his 
molten  consciousness  could  find  no  argument  to 
justify  himself,  even  to  act  as  a  balm! 

"He  never  said  it  before,"  the  boy  moaned, 
and  in  that  spoken  thought  was  the  nearest  thing 
to  comfort  that  he  could  conjure. 

He  stood  in  the  library  a  long  time,  gradually 
cooling,  gradually  nursing  the  bitterness  that 
grew  up  in  the  midst  of  conflicting  impulses.  The 
look  in  his  eyes  changed  from  bewilderment  to  a 
glassy  cynicism,  and  he  began  to  walk  back  and 
forth  unsteadily. 

He  paced  the  long  length  of  the  room  a  dozen 
times.  Then,  with  a  quickened  stride,  he  passed 
into  the  hall,  crossed  it,  and  entered  the  dining 
room,  the  tip  of  his  tongue  caressing  his  lips. 

On  the  buffet  stood  a  decanter,  a  heavy  affair 


DENUNCIATION  19 

of  finely  executed  glassworker's  art.  The  dark 
stuff  in  it  extended  halfway  up  the  neck,  and  as 
he  reached  for  it  Danny's  lips  parted.  He  lifted 
the  receptacle  and  clutched  at  a  whisky  glass  that 
stood  on  the  same  tray.  He  picked  it  up,  looked 
calculatingly  at  it,  set  it  down,  and  picked  up 
a  tumbler. 

The  glass  stopper  of  the  bottle  thudded  on 
the  mahogany;  his  nervous  hand  held  the  tumbler 
under  its  gurgling  mouth.  Half  full,  two-thirds, 
three-quarters,  to  within  a  finger's  breadth  of 
the  top  he  filled  it. 

Then,  setting  the  decanter  down,  he  lifted  the 
glass  to  look  through  the  amber  at  the  morning 
light;  his  breath  quick,  his  eyes  glittering,  Danny 
Lenox  poised.  A  smile  played  about  his  eager 
lips  —  a  smile  that  brightened,  and  lingered,  and 
faded  —  and  died. 

The  hand  holding  the  glass  trembled,  then  was 
still;  trembled  again,  so  severely  that  it  spilled 
some  of  the  liquor;  came  gradually  down  from  its 
upraised  position,  down  below  his  mouth,  below 
his  shoulder,  and  waveringly  sought  the  buffet. 

As  the  glass  settled  to  the  firm  wood  Danny's 
shoulders  slacked  forward  and  his  head  drooped. 
He  turned  slowly  from  the  buffet,  the  aroma  of 
whisky  strong  in  his  dilated  nostrils.  After  the 
first  faltering  step  he  faced  about,  gazed  at  his 
reflection  in  the  mirror,  and  said  aloud: 

"And  it's  not  been  worth  —  the  candle!" 

Savagery  was  in  his  step  as  he  entered  the 


20  "_I    CONQUERED" 

hall,  snatched  up  his  hat,  and  strode  to  the  door. 
As  the  heavy  portal  swung  shut  behind  the 
hurrying  boy  it  sighed  again,  as  though  hope 
lessly.  The  future  seemed  hopeless  for  Danny. 
He  had  gone  out  to  face  a  powerful  foe. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  YOUNG  MAN  GOES  WEST 

FROM  the  upper  four  hundreds  on  Riverside 
Drive  to  Broadway  where  the  lower  thirties 
slash  through  is  a  long  walk.  Danny  Lenox 
walked  it  this  June  day.  As  he  left  the  house 
his  stride  was  long  and  nervously  eager,  but 
before  he  covered  many  blocks  his  gait  moderated 
and  the  going  took  hours. 

Physical  fatigue  did  not  slow  down  his  progress. 
The  demands  upon  his  mental  machinery  retarded 
his  going.  He  needed  time  to  think,  to  plan,  to 
bring  order  out  of  the  chaos  into  which  he  had 
been  plunged.  Danny  had  suddenly  found  that 
many  things  in  life  are  to  be  considered  seriously. 
An  hour  ago  they  could  have  been  numbered  on 
his  fingers;  now  they  were  legion.  It  was  a  newly 
recognized  fact,  but  one  so  suddenly  obvious  that 
the  tardiness  of  his  realization  became  of  porten 
tous  significance. 

Through  all  the  hurt  and  shame  and  rage  the 
great  truth  that  his  father  had  hammered  home 
became  crystal  clear.  He  had  been  merely  a 
waster,  and  a  sharp  bitterness  was  in  him  as  he 
strode  along,  hands  deep  in  pockets. 

The  first  flash  of  his  resentment  had  given 
birth  to  the  childish  desire  to  "show  'em,"  and 

21 


22  "_I    CONQUERED" 

as  he  crowded  his  brain  against  the  host  of 
strange  facts  he  found  this  impulse  becoming 
stronger,  growing  into  a  healthy  determination 
to  adjust  his  standard  of  values  so  that  he 
could,  even  with  this  beginning,  justify  his 
existence. 

Oh,  the  will  to  do  was  strong  in  his  heart, 
but  about  it  was  a  clammy,  oppressive  something. 
He  wondered  at  it  —  then  traced  it  back  directly 
to  the  place  in  his  throat  that  cried  out  for 
quenching.  As  he  approached  a  familiar  haunt 
that  urge  became  more  insistent  and  the  palms 
of  his  hands  commenced  to  sweat.  He  crossed 
the  street  and  made  on  down  the  other  side.  He 
had  wasted  his  ability  to  do,  had  let  this  desire 
sap  his  will.  He  needed  every  jot  of  strength 
now.  He  would  begin  at  the  bottom  and  call 
back  that  frittered  vitality.  He  shut  his  teeth 
together  and  doggedly  stuck  his  head  forward  just 
a  trifle. 

The  boy  had  no  plan;  there  had  not  been  time 
to  become  so  specific.  His  whole  philosophy  had 
been  stood  on  its  head  with  bewildering  sudden 
ness.  He  knew,  though,  that  the  first  thing 
to  do  was  to  cut  his  environment,  to  get  away, 
off  anywhere,  to  a  place  where  he  could  build 
anew.  The  idea  of  getting  away  associated  it 
self  with  one  thing  in  his  mind:  means  of  trans 
portation.  So,  when  his  eyes  without  conscious 
motive  stared  at  the  poster  advertising  a  rail 
road  system  that  crosses  the  continent,  Danny 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  23 

Lenox  stopped  and  let  the  crowd  surge  past  him. 

A  man  behind  the  counter  approached  the 
tall,  broad-shouldered  chap  who  fumbled  in  his 
pockets  and  dumped  out  their  contents.  He 
looked  with  a  whimsical  smile  at  the  stuff  pro 
duced:  handkerchiefs,  pocket-knife,  gold  pencil, 
tobacco  pouch,  watch,  cigarette  case,  a  couple  of 
hat  checks,  opened  letters,  and  all  through  it 
money  —  money  in  bills  and  in  coins. 

The  operation  completed,  Danny  commenced 
picking  out  the  money.  He  tossed  the  crumpled 
bills  together  in  a  pile  and  stacked  the  coins. 
That  done,  he  swept  up  the  rest  of  his  property, 
crammed  it  into  his  coat  pockets,  and  commenced 
smoothing  the  bills. 

The  other  man,  meanwhile,  stood  and  smiled. 

"Cleaning  up  a  bit?"  he  asked. 

Danny  raised  his  eyes. 

"That's  the  idea,"  he  said  soberly.  "To 
clean  up  —  a  bit." 

The  seriousness  of  his  own  voice  actually 
startled  him. 

"How  far  will  that  take  me  over  your  line?" 
he  asked,  indicating  the  money. 

The  man  stared  hard;  then  smiled. 

"You  mean  you  want  that  much  worth  of 
ticket?" 

"Yes,  ticket  and  berth  —  upper  berth.  Less 
this."  He  took  out  a  ten-dollar  bill.  "I'll  eat 
on  the  way,"  he  explained  gravely. 


24  "—I    CONQUERED" 

The  other  counted  the  bills,  turning  them  over 
with  the  eraser  end  of  his  pencil,  then  counted 
the  silver  and  made  a  note  of  the  total. 

"Which  way  —  by  St.  Louis  or  Chicago?" 
he  asked.  "We  can  send  you  through  either 
place." 

Danny  lifted  a  dollar  from  the  stack  on  the 
counter  and  nipped  it  in  the  air.  Catching  it, 
he  looked  at  the  side  which  came  up  and  said: 

"St.  Louis." 

Again  the  clerk  calculated,  referring  to  time 
tables  and  a  map. 

"Denver,"  he  muttered,  as  though  to  himself. 
Then  to  Danny :  ' '  Out  of  Denver  I  can  give  you 
the  Union  Pacific,  Denver  and  Rio  Grande,  or 
Santa  Fe." 

"The  middle  course." 

"All  right  — D.  and  R.G." 

Then  more  referring  to  maps  and  time-tables, 
more  figuring,  more  glances  at  the  pile  of  money. 

' '  Let 's  see  —  that  will  land  you  at  —  at  — 
as  he  ran  his  finger  down  the  tabulation  —  "at 
Colt,  Colorado." 

Danny  moved  along  the  counter  to  the  glass- 
covered  map,  a  new  interest  in  his  face. 

"Where's  that  —  Colt,  Colorado?"  he  asked, 
leaning  his  elbows  on  the  counter. 

"See?"     The  other  indicated  with  his  pencil. 

"You  go  south  from  Denver  to  Colorado 
Springs;  then  on  through  Pueblo,  through  the 
Royal  Gorge  here,  and  right  in  here  — "  he  put 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  25 

the  lead  point  down  on  the  red  line  of  the  rail 
road  and  Danny's  head  came  close  to  his  —  "is 
where  you  get  off." 

The  boy  gazed  lingeringly  at  the  white  dot 
in  the  red  line  and  then  looked  up  to  meet  the 
other's  smile. 

"Mountains  and  more  mountains,"  he  said 
with  no  hint  of  lightness.  "That's  a  long  way 
from  this  place." 

He  gazed  out  on  to  flowing  Broadway  with  a 
look  somewhat  akin  to  pleading,  and  heard  the 
man  mutter:  "Yes,  beyond  easy  walking  from 
downtown,  at  least." 

Danny  straightened  and  sighed.  That  much 
was  settled.  He  was  going  to  Colt,  Colorado. 
He  looked  back  at  the  map  again,  possessed  with 
an  uneasy  foreboding. 

Colt,  Colorado! 

"Well,  when  can  I  leave?"  he  asked,  as  he 
commenced  putting  his  property  back  into  the 
proper  pockets. 

"You  can  scarcely  catch  the  next  train," 
said  the  clerk,  glancing  at  the  clock,  "because 
it  leaves  the  Grand  Central  in  nineteen  min  — 

"Yes,  I  can!"  broke  in  Danny.  "Get  me  a 
ticket  and  I'll  get  there!"  Then,  as  though  to 
himself,  but  still  in  the  normal  speaking  tone: 
"I'm  through  putting  things  off." 

Eighteen  and  three-quarters  minutes  later  a 
tall,  young  man  trotted  through  the  Grand 
Central  train  shed  to  where  his  Pullman  waited. 


26  "_I    CONQUERED" 

The  porter  looked  at  the  length  of  the  ticket 
Danny  handed  the  conductor. 

"Ain't  y'll  carryin'  nothin',  boss?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  George,"  Danny  muttered  as  he  passed 
into  the  vestibule,  "but  nothing  you  can  help 
me  with." 

With  the   grinding  of   the   car  wheels   under 
him  Danny's  mind  commenced  going  round  and 
round  his  knotty  problem.     His  plan  had  called 
for   nothing   more    than    a    start.     And   now- 
Colt,  Colorado! 

Behind  him  he  was  leaving  everything  of  which 
he  was  certain,  sordid  though  it  might  be.  He 
was  going  into  the  unknown,  ignorant  of  his  own 
capabilities,  realizing  only  that  he  was  weak. 
He  thought  of  those  burned  bridges,  of  the  uncer 
tainty  that  lay  ahead,  of  the  tumbling  of  the 
old  temple  about  his  ears  — 

And  doubt  came  up  from  the  ache  in  his  throat, 
from  the  call  of  his  nerves.  He  had  not  had  a 
drink  since  early  last  evening.  He  needed  — 
No!  That  was  the  last  thing  he  needed. 

He  sat  erect  in  his  seat  with  the  determination 
and  strove  to  fight  down  the  demands  which  his 
wasting  had  made  so  steely  strong.  He  felt 
for  his  cigarette  case.  It  was  empty,  but  the 
tobacco  pouch  held  a  supply,  and  as  he  walked 
toward  the  smoking  compartment  he  dusted 
some  of  the  weed  into  a  rice  paper. 

Danny  pushed  aside  the  curtain  to  enter,  and 
a  fat  man  bumped  him  with  a  violent  jolt. 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  27 

"Oh,  excuse  me!"  he  begged,  backing  off. 
"Sorry.  I'll  be  back  in  a  jiffy  with  more  sub 
stantial  apologies." 

Three  others  in  the  compartment  made  room 
for  Danny,  who  lighted  his  cigarette  and  drew 
a  great  gasp  of  smoke  into  his  lungs. 

In  a  moment  the  fat  man  was  back,  his  eyes 
dancing.  In  his  hand  was  a  silver  whisky  flask. 

"Now  if  you  don't  say  this  is  the  finest  booze 
ever  turned  out  of  a  gin  mill,  I'll  go  plumb!"  he 
declared.  "Drink,  friend,  drink!" 

He  handed  the  flask  to  one  of  the  others. 

"Here's  to  you!"  the  man  saluted,  raising  the 
flask  high  and  then  putting  its  neck  to  his  mouth. 

Danny's  tongue  went  again  to  his  lips;  his 
breath  quickened  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  became 
a  greedy  glitter.  He  could  hear  the  gurgle  of 
the  liquid ;  his  own  throat  responded  in  movement 
as  he  watched  the  swallowing.  He  squeezed  his 
cigarette  until  the  thin  paper  burst  and  the 
tobacco  sifted  out. 

"Great!"  declared  the  man  with  a  sigh  as  he 
lowered  the  flask.  ' '  Great ! ' ' 

He  smacked  his  lips  and  winked.  "Ah!  No 
whisky's  bad,  but  this's  better 'n  most  of  it!" 

Then,  extending  the  flask  toward  Danny,  he 
said:  "Try  it,  brother;  it's  good  for  a  soul." 

But  Danny,  rising  to  his  feet  with  a  suddenness 
that  was  almost  a  spring,  strode  past  him  to  the 
door.  His  face  suddenly  had  become  tight  and 
white  and  harried.  He  paused  at  the  entry, 


28  "__I    CONQUERED" 

holding  the  curtain  aside,  and  turned  to  see  the 
other,  flask  still  extended,  staring  at  him  in  bewil 
derment. 

"I'm  not  drinking,  you  know,"  said  Danny 
weakly,  "not  drinking." 

Then  he  went  out,  and  the  fat  man  who  had 
produced  the  liquor  said  soberly: 

"Not  drinking,  and  havin'  a  time  staying  off 
it.  But  say  —  ain't  that  some  booze?" 

Long  disuse  of  the  power  to  plan  concretely, 
to  think  seriously  of  serious  facts,  had  left  it 
weak.  Danny  strove  to  route  himself  through 
to  that  new  life  he  knew  was  so  necessary,  but 
he  could  not  call  back  the  ability  of  tense  thinking 
with  a  word  or  a  wish.  And  while  he  tried  for 
that  end  the  boy  commenced  to  realize  that 
perhaps  he  had  not  so  far  to  seek  for  his  fresh 
start.  Perhaps  it  was  not  waiting  for  him  in 
Colt,  Colorado.  Perhaps  it  was  right  here  in 
his  throat,  in  his  nerves.  Perhaps  the  creature 
in  him  was  not  a  thing  to  be  cleared  away  before 
he  could  begin  to  fight  —  perhaps  it  was  the 
proper  object  at  which  to  direct  his  whole  attack. 

Enforced  idleness  was  an  added  handicap. 
Physical  activity  would  have  made  the  beginning 
much  easier,  for  before  he  realized  it  Danny  was 
in  the  thick  of  battle.  A  system  that  had  been 
stimulated  by  poison  in  increasing  proportion 
to  its  years  almost  from  boyhood  began  to  make 
unequivocal  demands  for  the  stuff  that  had  held 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  29 

it  to  high  pitch.  Tantalizingly  at  first,  with  the 
thirsting  throat  and  jumping  muscles;  then. with 
thundering  assertions  that  warped  the  vision 
and  numbed  the  intellect  and  toyed  with  the 
will.  He  gave  up  trying  to  think  ahead.  His 
entire  mental  force  went  into  the  grapple  with 
that  desire.  Where  he  had  thought  to  find  pos 
sible  distress  in  the  land  out  yonder,  it  had  come 
to  meet  him  —  and  of  a  sort  more  fearful,  more 
tremendous,  than  any  which  he  had  been  able 
to  conceive. 

Through  the  rise  of  that  fevered  fighting  the 
words  of  his  father  rang  constantly  in  Danny's 
mind. 

"He  was  right  —  right,  right!"  the  boy  de 
clared  over  and  over.  "It  was  brutal;  but  he 
was  right!  I've  wasted,  I've  gone  the  limit. 
And  he  doesn't  think  I  can  come  back!" 

While  faith  would  have  been  as  a  helping  hand 
stretched  down  to  pull  him  upward,  the  denial 
of  it  served  as  a  stinging  goad,  driving  him  on. 
A  chord  deep  within  him  had  been  touched  by 
the  raining  blows  from  his  father,  and  the  vibra 
tions  of  that  chord  became  quicker  and  sharper 
as  the  battle  crescendoed.  The  unbelief  had 
stirred  a  retaliating  determination. 

It  was  this  that  sent  a  growl  of  defiance  into 
Danny's  throat  at  sight  of  a  whisky  sign;  it  was 
the  cause  of  his  cursing  when,  walking  up  and 
down  a  station  platform  at  a  stop,  he  saw  men 
in  the  buffet  car  lift  glasses  to  their  lips  and  smile 


30  "__I    CONQUERED" 

at  one  other.  It  was  this  that  drew  him  away 
from  an  unfinished  meal  in  the  diner  when  a 
man  across  the  table  ordered  liquor  and  Danny's 
eyes  ached  for  the  sight  of  it,  his  nostrils  begged 
for  the  smell. 

So  on  every  hand  came  the  suggestions  that 
made  demands  upon  his  resistance,  that  made 
the  weakness  gnaw  the  harder  at  his  will.  But 
he  fought  against  it,  on  and  on  across  a  country, 
out  into  the  mountains,  toward  the  end  of  his 
ride. 

The  unfolding  of  the  marvels  of  a  continent's 
vitals  had  a  peculiar  effect  on  Danny. 

Before  that  trip  he  had  held  the  vaguest  notions 
of  the  West,  but  with  the  realization  of  the 
grandeur  of  it  all  he  was  torn  between  a  glorified 
inspiration  and  a  suffocating  sense  of  his  own 
smallness. 

He  had  known  only  cities,  and  cities  are,  by 
comparison,  such  puny  things.  They  froth  and 
ferment  and  clatter  and  clang  and  boast,  and  yet 
they  are  merely  flecks,  despoiled  spots,  on  an 
expanse  so  vast  that  it  seems  utterly  unconscious 
of  their  presence.  The  boy  realized  this  as  the 
big  cities  were  left  behind,  as  the  stretches  be 
tween  stations  became  longer,  the  towns  more 
flimsy,  newer.  A  species  of  terror  filled  him  as 
he  gazed  moodily  from  his  Pullman  window  out 
across  that  panorama  to  the  north.  Why,  he 
could  see  as  far  as  to  the  Canadian  boundary,  it 


A   YOUNG   MAN    GOES   WEST  31 

seemed!  On  and  on,  rising  gently,  ever  flowing, 
never  ending,  went  the  prairie.  Here  and  there 
a  fence ;  now  a  string  of  telephone  poles  marching 
out  sturdily,  bravely,  to  reduce  distance  by  count 
less  hours.  There  a  house,  alone,  unshaded, 
with  a  woman  standing  in  the  door  watching 
his  speeding  train.  Yonder  a  man  shacking  along 
on  a  rough  little  horse,  head  down,  listless  —  a 
crawling  jot  under  that  endless  sky. 

Even  his  train,  thing  of  steel  and  steam,  was 
such  a  paltry  particle,  screaming  to  a  heaven 
that  heard  not,  driving  at  a  distance  that  cared  not. 

Then  the  mountains! 

Danny  awoke  in  Denver,  to  step  from  his  car 
and  look  at  noble  Evans  raising  its  craggy, 
hoary  head  into  the  salmon  pink  of  morning, 
defiant,  ignoring  men  who  fussed  and  puttered 
down  there  in  its  eternal  shadow;  at  Long's  Peak, 
piercing  the  sky  as  though  striving  to  be  away 
from  humans;  at  Pike,  shimmering  proudly 
through  its  sixty  miles  of  crystal  distance,  taking 
a  heavy,  giant  delight  in  watching  beings  worry 
their  way  through  its  hundred-mile  dooryard. 

Then  along  the  foothills  the  train  tore  with 
the  might  of  which  men  are  so  proud;  yet  it  only 
crawled  past  those  mountains. 

Stock  country  now,  more  and  more  cattle  in 
sight.  Blase,  white-faced  Herefords  lifted  their 
heads  momentarily  toward  the  cars.  They  heeded 
little  more  than  did  the  mountains. 

Then,  to  the  right  and  into  the  ranges,  twisting, 


32  "_I    CONQUERED" 

turning,  climbing,  sliding  througn  the  narrow 
defiles  at  the  grace  of  the  towering  heights  which 
—  so  alive  did  they  seem  —  could  have  whiffed 
out  that  thing,  those  lives,  by  a  mere  stirring 
on  their  complacent  bases. 

And  Danny  commenced  Lo  draw  parallels. 
Just  as  his  life  had  been  axdficial,  so  had  his 
environment.  Manhattan  —  and  this  !  Its  com 
plaining  cars,  its  popping  pavements,  its  echoing 
buildings  —  it  had  all  seemed  so  big,  so  great,  so 
mighty!  And  yet  it  was  merely  a  little  mud 
village,  the  work  of  a  prattling  child,  as  compared 
with  this  country.  The  subway,  backed  by  its 
millions  in  bonds,  planned  by  constructive  genius, 
executed  by  master  minds,  a  thing  to  write  into 
the  history  of  all  time,  was  a  mole-passage  com 
pared  to  this  gorge!  The  Woolworth,  labor  of 
years,  girders  mined  on  Superior,  stones  quarried 
elsewhere,  concrete,  tiling,  cables,  woods,  all 
manner  of  fixtures  contributed  by  continents; 
donkey  engines  puffing,  petulant  whistles  scream 
ing,  men  of  a  dozen  tongues  crawling  and  worming 
and  dying  for  it;  a  nation  standing  agape  at  its 
ivory  and  gold  attainments!  And  what  was  it? 
Put  it  down  here  and  it  would  be  lost  in  the  rolling 
of  the  prairie  as  it  swelled  upward  to  meet  honest 
heights ! 

No  wonder  Danny  Lenox  felt  inconsequential. 
And  yet  he  sensed  a  friendly  something  in  that 
grandeur,  an  element  which  reached  down  for 
him  like  a  helping  hand  and  offered  to  draw  him 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  33 

out  of  his  cramped,  mean  little  life  and  put  him 
up  with  stalwart  men. 

"If  this  rotten  carcass  of  mine,  with  its  dry 
throat  and  fluttering  hands,  will  only  stick  by  me 
I'll  show  'em  yet!"  he  declared,  and  held  up  one 
of  those  hands  to  watch  its  uncertainty. 

And  in  the  midst  of  one  of  those  bitter,  griping 
struggles  to  keep  his  vagrant  mind  from  running 
into  vinous  paths,  the  brakes  clamped  down  and 
the  porter,  superlatively  polite,  announced: 

"This  is  Colt,  sah." 

A  quick  interest  fired  Danny.  He  hurried  to 
the  platform,  stood  on  the  lowest  step,  and 
watched  the  little  clump  of  buildings  swell  to 
natural  size.  He  reached  into  his  pocket,  grasped 
the  few  coins  remaining  there,  and  gave  them  to 
the  colored  boy. 

The  train  stopped  with  a  jolt,  and  Danny 
stepped  off.  The  conductor,  who  had  dropped 
off  from  the  first  coach  as  it  passed  the  station, 
ran  out  of  the  depot,  waved  his  hand,  and  the 
grind  of  wheels  commenced  again. 

As  the  last  car  passed,  Danny  Lenox  stared  at 
it,  and  for  many  minutes  his  gaze  followed  its 
departure.  After  it  had  disappeared  around  the 
distant  curve  he  retained  a  picture  of  the  white- 
clad  servant,  leaning  forward  and  pouring  some 
liquid  from  a  bottle. 

The  roar  of  the  cars  died  to  a  murmur,  a  mut 
tering,  and  was  swallowed  in  the  canon.  The 
sun  beat  down  on  the  squat,  green  depot  and 

3 


34 

cinder  platform,  sending  the  quivering  heat  rays 
back  to  distort  the  outlines  of  objects.  Every 
where  was  a  white,  blinding  light. 

From  behind  came  a  sound  of  waters,  and 
Danny  turned  about  to  gaze  far  down  into  a  ragged 
gorge  where  a  river  tumbled  and  protested  through 
the  rocky  way. 

Beyond  the  stream  was  stretching  mesa,  quiet 
and  flat  and  smooth  looking  in  the  crystal  dis 
tance,  dotted  with  pine,  shimmering  under  the 
heat. 

For  five  minutes  he  stared  almost  stupidly  at 
that  grand  sweep  of  still  country,  failing  to 
comprehend  the  fact  of  arrival.  Then  he  walked 
to  the  end  of  the  little  station  and  gazed  up  at 
the  town. 

A  dozen  buildings  with  false  fronts,  some 
painted,  some  without  pretense  of  such  nicety, 
faced  one  another  across  a  thoroughfare  four 
times  as  wide  as  Broadway.  Sleeping  saddle 
ponies  stood,  each  with  a  hip  slumped  and  nose 
low  to  the  yellow  ground.  A  scattering  of  houses 
with  their  clumps  of  outbuildings  and  fenced 
areas  straggled  off  behind  the  stores. 

Scraggly,  struggling  pine  stood  here  and  there 
among  the  rocks,  but  shade  was  scant. 

Behind  the  station  were  acres  of  stock  pens, 
with  high  and  unpainted  fences.  Desolation! 
Desolation  supreme! 

Danny  felt  a  sickening,  a  revulsion.  But  lo! 
his  eyes,  lifting  blindly  for  hope,  for  comfort, 


A    YOUNG    MAN    GOES    WEST  35 

found  the  thing  which  raised  him  above  the 
depression  of  the  rude  little  town. 

A  string  of  cliffs,  ranging  in  color  from  the 
bright  pink  of  the  nearest  to  the  soft  violet  of 
those  which  might  be  ten  or  a  hundred  miles 
away,  stretched  in  mighty  columns,  their  varied 
pigments  telling  of  the  magnificent  distances 
to  which  they  reached.  All  were  plastered  up 
against  a  sky  so  blue  that  it  seemed  thick,  and 
as  though  the  color  must  soon  begin  to  drip. 
Glory!  The  majesty  of  the  earth's  ragged  crust, 
the  exquisite  harmony  of  that  glorified  gaudiness ! 
Danny  pulled  a  great  chestful  of  the  rare  air 
into  his  lungs.  He  threw  up  his  arms  in  a  little 
gesture  that  indicated  an  acceptance  of  things 
as  they  were,  and  in  his  mind  flickered  the  ques 
tion: 

"The  beginning  —  or  the  end?" 


CHAPTER  III 

"I'VE  DONE  MY  PICKIN"' 

THEN  he  felt  his  gaze  drawn  away  from 
those  vague,  alluring  distances.  It  was  one 
of  those  pulls  which  psychologists  have  failed 
to  explain  with  any  great  clarity;  but  every  hu 
man  being  recognizes  them.  Danny  followed 
the  impulse. 

He  had  not  seen  the  figure  squatting  there  on 
his  spurs  at  the  shady  end  of  the  little  depot,  for 
he  had  been  looking  off  to  the  north.  But  as 
he  yielded  to  the  urge  he  knew  its  source  —  in 
those  other  eyes. 

The  figure  was  that  of  a  little  man,  and  his 
doubled-up  position  seemed  to  make  his  frame 
even  more  diminutive.  The  huge  white  angora 
chaps,  the  scarlet  kerchief  about  his  neck  and 
against  the  blue  of  his  shirt,  the  immense  spread 
of  his  hat,  his  drooping  gray  mustache,  all  em 
phasized  his  littleness. 

Yet  Danny  saw  none  of  those  things.  He 
looked  straight  into  the  blue  eyes  squinting  up 
at  him  —  eyes  deep  and  comprehensive,  set  in 
a  copper-colored  face,  surrounded  by  an  intricate 
design  of  wrinkles  in  the  clear  skin;  eyes  that  had 
looked  at  incalculably  distant  horizons  for  decades, 
and  had  learned  to  look  at  men  with  that  same 

36 


"I'VE   DONE   MY  PICKIN"  37 

long-range  gaze.  A  light  was  in  those  eyes  — 
a  warm,  kindly,  human  light  —  that  attracted 
and  held  and  created  an  atmosphere  of  stability; 
it  seemed  as  though  that  light  were  tangible, 
something  to  which  a  man  could  tie  —  so 
prompt  is  the  flash  from  man  to  man  that 
makes  for  friendship  and  devotion;  and  to 
Danny  there  came  a  sudden  comfort.  That 
was  why  he  did  not  notice  the  other  things 
about  the  little  man.  That  was  why  he  wanted 
to  talk. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said. 

"  'Mornin'." 

Then  a  pause,  while  their  eyes  still  held  one 
another. 

After  a  moment  Danny  looked  away.  He 
had  a  stabbing  idea  that  the  little  man  was  read 
ing  him  with  that  penetrating  gaze.  The  look 
was  kindly,  sincere,  yet  —  and  perhaps  because 
of  it  —  the  boy  cringed. 

The  man  stirred  and  spat. 

"To  be  sure,  things  kind  of  quiet  down  when 
th'  train  quits  this  place,"  he  remarked  with  a 
nasal  twang. 

"Yes,  indeed.  I  —  I  don't  suppose  much 
happens  here  —  except  trains." 

Danny  smiled  feebly.  He  took  his  hat  off 
and  wiped  the  brow  on  which  beads  of  sweat 
glistened  against  the  pallor.  The  little  man 
still  looked  up,  and  as  he  watched  Danny's  weak, 
uncertain  movements  the  light  in  his  eyes  changed. 


38  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  smile  left  them,  but  the  kindliness  did  not 
go;  a  concern  came,  and  a  tenderness. 

Still,  when  he  spoke  his  nasal  voice  was  as  it 
•  had  been  before. 

"Take  it  you  just  got  in?" 

"Yes  —  just  now.' 

Then  another  silence,  while  Danny  hung  his  head 
as  he  felt  those  searching  eyes  boring  through  him. 

"Long  trip  this  hot  weather,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  very  long." 

Danny  looked  quickly  at  his  interrogator  then 
and  asked: 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Didn't.     Just    guessed."     He    chuckled. 
"Ever  think  how  many  men's  been  thought 
wise  just  guessin'?" 

But  Danny  caught  the  evasion.  He  looked 
down  at  his  clothes,  wrinkled,  but  still  crying 
aloud  of  his  East. 

"I  suppose,"  he  muttered,  "I  do  look  different 
—  am  different." 

And  the  association  of  ideas  took  him  across 
the  stretches  to  Manhattan,  to  the  life  that  was, 
to- 

He  caught  his  breath  sharply.  The  call  of  his 
throat  was  maddening! 

The  little  man  had  risen  and,  with  thumbs 
hooked  in  his  chap  belt,  stumped  on  his  high 
boot  heels  close  to  Danny.  A  curious  expression 
softened  the  lines  of  his  face,  making  it  seem 
queerly  out  of  harmony  with  his  garb. 


"I'VE   DONE   MY   PICKIN"  39 

"You  lookin'  for  somebody?"  he  ventured, 
and  the  nasal  quality  of  his  voice  seemed  to  be 
mellowed,  seemed  to  invite,  to  compel  confidence. 

"Looking  for  somebody?" 

Danny,  only  half  consciously,  repeated  the 
query.  Then,  throwing  his  head  back  and  follow 
ing  that  range  of  flat  tops  off  to  the  north,  he 
muttered :  ' '  Yes,  looking  for  somebody  —  look 
ing  for  myself!" 

The  other  shifted  his  chew,  reached  for  his  hat 
brim,  and  pulled  it  lower. 

"No  baggage?"  he  asked.  "To  be  sure,  an' 
ain't  you  got  no  grip?" 

Danny  looked  at  him  quickly  again,  and, 
meeting  the  honest  query  in  that  face,  seeing 
the  spark  there  which  meant  sympathy  and 
understanding  —  qualities  which  human  beings 
can  recognize  anywhere  and  to  which  they  respond 
unhesitatingly  —  he  smiled  wanly. 

"Grip?"  he  asked,  and  paused.  "Grip?  Not 
the  sign  of  one !  That 's  what  I  'm  here  for  —  in 
Colt,  Colorado  —  to  get  a  fresh  grip!"  After  a 
moment  he  extended  an  indicating  finger  and 
asked:  "Is  that  all  of  Colt  —  Colt,  Colorado?" 

The  old  man  did  not  follow  the  pointing  farther 
than  the  uncertain  finger.  And  when  he  answered 
his  eyes  had  changed  again,  changed  to  searching, 
ferreting  points  that  ran  over  every  puff  and  seam 
and  hollow  in  young  Danny's  face.  Then  the 
older  man  set  his  chin  firmly,  as  though  a  grim 
conclusion  had  been  reached. 


40  "__I   CONQUERED" 

"That's  th'  total  o'  Colt,"  he  answered. 
"It  ain't  exactly  astoundin',  is  it?" 

Danny  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Not  exactly,"  he  agreed.  "Let's  go  up  and 
look  it  over." 

An  amused  curiosity  drove  out  some  of  the 
misery  that  had  been  in  his  pallid  countenance. 

"Sure,  come  along  an'  inspect  our  metropolis!" 
invited  the  little  man,  and  they  struck  off  through 
the  sagebrush. 

Danny's  long,  free  stride  made  the  other  hustle, 
and  the  contrast  between  them  was  great;  the 
one  tall  and  broad  and  athletic  of  poise  in  spite 
of  the  shoulders,  which  were  not  back  to  their 
full  degree  of  squareness;  the  other,  short  and 
bowlegged  and  muscle-bound  by  years  in  the 
saddle,  taking  two  steps  to  his  pacemaker's  one. 

They  attracted  attention  as  they  neared  the 
store  buildings.  A  man  in  riding  garb  came  to 
the  door  of  a  primitive  clothing  establishment, 
looked,  stepped  back,  and  emerged  once  more. 
A  moment  later  two  others  joined  him,  and  they 
stared  frankly  at  Danny  and  his  companion. 

A  man  on  horseback  swung  out  into  the  broad 
street,  and  as  he  rode  away  from  them  turned  in 
his  saddle  to  look  at  the  pair.  A  woman  ran 
down  the  post-office  steps  and  halted  her  hurried 
progress  for  a  lingering  glance  at  Danny.  The 
boy  noticed  it  all. 

"I'm  attracting  attention,"  he  said  to  the 
little  man,  and  smiled  as  though  embarrassed. 


"I'VE    DONE    MY    PICKIN"  41 

"Aw,  these  squashies  ain't  got  no  manners," 
the  other  apologized.  "They  set  out  in  these 
dog-gone  hills  an'  look  down  badger  holes  so  much 
that  they  git  loco  when  somethin'  new  comes 
along." 

Then  he  stopped,  for  the  tall  stranger  was  not 
beside  him.  He  looked  around.  His  companion 
was  standing  still,  lips  parted,  fingers  working 
slowly.  He  was  gazing  at  the  front  of  the  Mon 
arch  saloon. 

From  within  came  the  sound  of  an  upraised 
voice.  Then  another  in  laughter.  The  swinging 
doors  opened,  and  a  man  lounged  out.  After 
him,  ever  so  faint,  but  insidiously  strong  and 
compelling,  came  an  odor! 

For  a  moment,  a  decade,  a  generation  —  time 
does  not  matter  when  a  man  chokes  back  tempta 
tion  to  save  himself  —  Danny  stood  in  the  yellow 
street,  under  the  white  sunlight,  making  his  feet 
remain  where  they  were.  They  would  have 
hurried  him  on,  compelling  him  to  follow  those 
fumes  to  their  source,  to  push  aside  the  flapping 
doors  and  take  his  throat  to  the  place  where  that 
burning  spot  could  be  cooled. 

In  Colt,  Colorado!  It  had  been  before  him 
all  the  way,  and  now  he  could  not  be  quit  of  its 
physical  presence!  But  though  his  will  wavered, 
it  held  his  feet  where  they  were,  because  it  was 
stiffened  by  the  dawning  knowledge  that  his 
battle  had  only  commenced ;  that  the  struggle 
during  the  long  journey  across  country  had  been 


42  "__I   CONQUERED" 

only  preliminary  maneuvering,  only  the  mobilizing 
of  his  forces. 

When  he  moved  to  face  the  little  Westerner 
his  eyes  were  filmed.  The  other  drew  a  hand 
across  his  mouth  calculatingly  and  jerked  his 
hat-brim  still  lower. 

"As  I  was  sayin',"  he  went  on  a  bit  awkwardly 
as  they  resumed  their  walk,  "these  folks  ain't 
got  much  manners,  but  they're  good  hearted." 

Danny  did  not  hear.  He  was  casting  around 
for  more  resources,  more  reserves  to  reinforce 
his  front  in  the  battle  that  was  raging. 

He  looked  about  quickly,  a  bit  wildly,  searching 
for  some  object,  some  idea  to  engage  his  thoughts, 
to  divert  his  mind  from  that  insistent  calling. 
His  eyes  spelled  out  the  heralding  of  food  stuffs. 
The  sun  stood  high.  It  was  time.  It  was  not 
an  excuse;  it  was  a  Godsend! 

' '  Let 's  eat, ' '  he  said  abruptly.     ' '  I  'm  starving. ' ' 

"That's  a  sound  idee,"  agreed  the  other,  and 
they  turned  toward  the  restaurant,  a  flat-roofed 
building  of  rough  lumber.  A  baby  was  playing 
in  the  dirt  before  the  door  and  a  chained  coyote 
puppy  watched  them  from  the  shelter  of  a  corner. 

On  the  threshold  Danny  stopped,  confusion 
possessing  him  He  stammered  a  moment,  tried 
to  smile,  and  then  muttered: 

"Guess  I  'd  better  wait  a  little.  It  is  n't  neces 
sary  to  eat  right  away,  anyhow." 

He  stepped  back  from  the  doorway  with  its 
smells  of  cooking  food  and  the  other  followed  him 


"I'VE    DONE    MY    PICKIN"  43 

quickly,  blue  eyes  under  brows  that  now  drew 
down  in  determination. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  the  man  said,  stepping  close, 
"you  was  crazy  for  chuck  a  minute  ago,  an'  now 
you  make  a  bad  excuse  not  to  eat.  To  be  sure, 
it  ain't  none  of  my  business,  but  I  'm  old  enough 
to  be  your  daddy;  I  ain't  afraid  to  ask  you  what's 
wrong.  Why  don't  you  want  to  eat?" 

The  sincerity  of  it,  the  unalloyed  interest  that 
precluded  any  hint  of  prying  or  sordid  curiosity, 
went  home  to  Danny  and  he  said  simply : 

"I'm  broke." 

"You  didn't  need  to  tell  me.  I  knowed  it. 
I  ain't,  though.  You  eat  with  me." 

"I  can't!     I  can't  do  that!" 

"Expect  to  starve,   I  s'pose?" 

"No  —  not  exactly.  That  is,"  he  hastened 
to  say,  "not  if  I'm  worth  my  keep.  I  came  out 
here  to  —  to  get  busy  and  take  care  of  myself. 
I  '11  strike  a  job  of  some  sort  —  anything,  I  don't 
care  what  it  is  or  where  it  takes  me.  When 
I  'm  ready  to  work,  I  '11  eat.  I  ought  to  get  work 
right  away,  oughtn't  I?" 

In  his  voice  was  a  sudden  pleading  born  of  the 
fear  awakened  by  his  realization  of  absolute 
helplessness,  as  though  he  looked  for  assurance 
to  strengthen  his  feeble  hopes,  but  hardly  dared 
expect  it.  The  little  man  looked  him  over 
gravely  from  the  heels  of  his  flat  shoes  to  the 
crown  of  his  rakishly  soft  hat.  He  pushed  his 
Stetson  far  back  on  his  gray  hair. 


44  "  —  I   CONQUERED" 

"To  be  sure,  and  I  guess  you  won't  have  to 
look  far  for  work,"  he  said.  "I've  been  combin' 
this  town  dry  for  a  hand  all  day.  If  you'd  like 
to  take  a  chance  workin'  for  me  I'd  be  mighty 
glad  to  take  you  on  —  right  off.  I  'm  only  waitin' 
to  find  a  man  —  can't  go  home  till  I  do.  Con 
sider  yourself  hired!" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  started  off.  But 
Danny  did  not  follow.  He  felt  distrust;  he 
thought  the  kindness  of  the  other  was  going  too 
far;  he  suspected  charity. 

"Come  on!"  the  man  snapped,  turning  to  look 
at  the  loitering  Danny.  "Have  I  got  to  rope 
an'  drag  you  to  grub?" 

"But  —  you  see  it's  —  this  way,"  the  boy 
stammered.  "Do  you  really  want  me?  Can  I 
do  your  work?  How  do  you  know  I'm  worth 
even  a  meal?" 

A  slow  grin  spread  over  the  Westerner's 
countenance. 

"Friend,*  he  drawled  in  his  high,  nasal  tone, 
"it's  a  pretty  poor  polecat  of  a  man  who  ain't 
worth  a  meal;  an'  it's  a  pretty  poor  specimen 
who  goes  hirin'  without  makin'  up  his  mind 
sufficient.  They  ain't  many  jobs  in  this  country, 
but  just  now  they's  fewer  men.  We've  got  used 
to  bein'  careful  pickers.  I've  done  my  pickin'. 
Come  on." 

Only  half  willingly  the  boy  followed. 

They  walked  through  the  restaurant,  the  old 
man  saluting  the  lone  individual  who  presided 


"I'VE    DONE    MY    PICKIN"  45 

over  the  place,   which  was  kitchen  and  dining 
room  in  one. 

"Hello,  Jed,"  the  proprietor  cried,  waving  a 
fork.  "How's  things?" 

"Finer  'n  frog's  hair!"  the  other  replied, 
shoving  open  the  broken  screen  door  at  the  rear. 

"This  is  where  we  abolute,"  he  remarked, 
indicating  the  dirty  wash-basin,  the  soap  which 
needed  a  boiling  out  itself,  and  the  discouraged, 
service-stiffened  towel. 

Danny  looked  dubiously  at  the  array.  He 
had  never  seen  as  bad,  to  say  nothing  of  having 
used  such;  but  the  man  with  him  sloshed  water 
into  the  basin  from  a  tin  pail  and  said: 

"You're  next,  son,  you're  next." 

And  Danny  plunged  his  bared  wrists  into  the 
water.  It  was  good,  it  was  cool;  and  he  forgot 
the  dirty  receptacle  in  the  satisfaction  that  came 
with  drenching  his  aching  head  and  dashing  the 
cooling  water  over  his  throat.  The  other  stood 
and  watched,  his  eyes  busy,  his  face  reflecting 
the  rapid  workings  of  his  mind. 

They    settled    in    hard-bottomed,     uncertain- 
legged  chairs,  and  Jed  —  whoever  he  might  be, 
Danny  thought,  as  he  remembered  the  name  — 
gave  their  order  to  the  man,   who  was,  among 
other  things,  waiter  and  cook. 

"Make  it  two  sirloins,"  he  said;  "one  well 
done  an'  one — "  He  lifted  his  eyebrows  at 
Danny. 

"Rare,"  the  boy  said. 


46  '_!   CONQUERED" 

"An'  some  light  bread  an'  a  pie,"  concluded 
the  employer- host. 

Danny  saw  that  the  cook  wore  a  scarf  around 
his  neck  and  down  his  back,  knotted  in  three 
places.  When  he  moved  on  the  floor  it  was 
evident  that  he  wore  riding  boots.  On  his 
wrists  were  the  leather  cuffs  of  the  cowboy. 

Danny  smiled.  A  far  cry,  indeed,  this  res 
taurant  in  Colt,  Colorado,  from  his  old  haunts 
along  the  dark  thoroughfare  that  is  misnamed  a 
lighted  way!  The  other  was  talking:  "We'll 
leave  soon's  we're  through  an'  make  it  on  up 
th'  road  to-night.  It'll  take  us  four  days  to 
get  to  th'  ranch,  probably,  an'  we  might's  well 
commence.  Can  you  ride?" 

Danny  checked  a  short  affirmative  answer  on 
his  lips. 

"I've  ridden  considerably,"  he  said.  "You 
people  wouldn't  call  it  riding,  though.  You'll 
have  to  teach  me." 

"Well,  that's  a  good  beginnin'.  To  be  sure 
it  is.  Them  as  has  opinions  is  mighty  hard  to 
teach  — '  cause  opinions  is  like  as  not  to  be  dead 
wrong." 

He  smeared  butter  on  a  piece  of  bread  and 
poked  it  into  his  mouth.  Then: 

' '  I  brought  out  my  last  hand  —  I  come  with 
him,  I  mean.  Th'  sheriff  brought  him.  His 
saddle  an'  bed's  over  to  th'  stable.  You  can  use 
'em." 

"Sheriff?"  asked  Danny.     "Get  into  trouble?" 


"I'VE   DONE   MY  PICKIN"  47 

"Oh,  a  little.  He's  a  good  boy,  mostly  — 
except  when  he  gets  drinkin'." 

Danny  shoved  his  thumb  down  against  the 
tines  of  the  steel  fork  he  held  until  they  bent 
to  uselessness. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TROUBLE  HUNTER 

KNEE  to  knee,  at  a  shacking  trot,  they  rode 
out  into  the  glory  of  big  places,  two  horses 
before  them  bearing  the  light  burden  of  a  West 
erner's  bed. 

"My  name's  Jed  Avery,"  the  little  man  broke 
in  when  they  wrere  clear  of  the  town.  "  I  'm  located 
over  on  Red  Mountain  —  a  hundred  an'  thirty 
miles  from  here.  I  run  horses  —  th'  VB  stuff. 
They  call  me  Jed  —  or  Old  VB ;  mostly  Jed  now, 
'cause  th'  fellers  who  used  to  ca1]  me  Old  VB  has 
got  past  talkin'  so  you  can  hear  'em,  or  else  has 
moved  out.  Names  don't  matter,  anyhow.  It 
ain't  a  big  outfit,  but  I  have  a  good  time  runnin' 
it.  Top  hands  get  thirty-five  a  month." 

Danny  felt  that  there  was  occasion  for  answer 
of  some  sort.  In  those  few  words  Avery  had 
given  him  as  much  information  as  he  could  need, 
and  had  given  it  freely,  not  as  though  he  expected 
to  open  a  way  for  the  satisfaction  of  any  curiosity. 
He  wanted  to  forget  the  past,  to  leave  it  entirely 
behind  him;  did  not  want  so  much  as  a  remnant 
to  cling  to  him  in  this  new  life.  Still,  he  did  not 
deem  it  quite  courteous  to  let  the  volunteered 
information  come  to  him  and  respond  with 
merely  an  acknowledgment. 

48 


THE   TROUBLE   HUNTER  49 

He  cleared  his  throat.  "I'm  from  Riverside 
Drive,  New  York  City,"  he  said  grimly.  "Names 
don't  matter.  I  don't  know  how  to  do  a  thing 
except  waste  time  —  and  strength.  If  you'll 
give  me  a  chance,  I'll  get  to  be  a  top  hand." 

An  interval  of  silence  followed. 

"I  never  heard  of  th'  street  you  mention.  I 
know  New  York's  on  th'  other  slope  an'  consid 
erable  different  from  this  here  country.  Gettin' 
to  be  a  top  hand's  mostly  in  makin'  up  your 
mind  —  just  like  gettin'  anywhere  else." 

Then  more  wordless  travel.  Behind  them  Colt 
dwindled  to  a  bright  blotch.  The  road  ran  close 
against  the  hills,  which  rose  abruptly  and  in 
scarred  beauty.  The  way  was  ever  upward, 
and  as  they  progressed  more  of  the  country 
beyond  the  river  spread  out  to  their  view,  mesas 
and  mountains  stretching  away  to  infinite  dis 
tance,  it  seemed. 

Even  back  of  the  sounds  of  their  travel  the 
magnificent  silence  impressed  itself.  It  was  weird 
to  Danny  Lenox,  unlike  anything  his  traffic- 
hardened  ears  had  ever  experienced,  and  it  made 
him  uneasy — it,  and  the  ache  in  his  throat. 

That  ache  seemed  to  be  the  last  real  thing  left 
about  him,  anyhow.  Events  had  come  with 
such  unreasonable  rapidity  in  those  last  few  days 
that  his  harassed  mind  could  not  properly  arrange 
the  impressions.  Here  he  w^as,  hired  out  to  do 
he  knew  not  what,  starting  a  journey  that  would 
take  him  a  hundred  and  thirty  miles  from  a 


5o  "_I   CONQUERED" 

place  called  Colt,  in  the  state  of  Colorado,  through 
a  country  as  unknown  to  him  as  the  regions  of 
mythology,  beside  a  man  whose  like  he  had  never 
seen  before,  traveling  in  a  fashion  that  on  his 
native  Manhattan  had  worn  itself  to  disuse  two 
generations  ago! 

Out  of  the  whimsical  reverie  he  came  with  a 
jolt.  Following  the  twisting  road,  coming  toward 
them  at  good  speed,  was  the  last  thing  he  would 
have  associated  with  this  place  —  an  automobile. 
He  reined  his  horse  out  of  the  path,  saw  the  full- 
figured  driver  throw  up  his  arm  in  salutation  to 
Jed,  and  heard  Jed  shout  an  answering  greeting. 
The  driver  looked  keenly  at  Danny  as  he  passed, 
and  touched  his  broad  hat. 

"Who  was  that?"  the  boy  asked,  as  he  again 
fell  in  beside  his  companion. 

"That's  Bob  Thorpe,"  the  other  explained. 
"He's  th'  biggest  owner  in  this  part  of  Colorado 
—  mebby  in  th'  whole  state.  Cattle.  S  Bar  S 
mostly,  but  he  owns  a  lot  of  brands." 

"Can  he  get  around  through  these  mountains 
in  a  car?" 

"He  seems  to.  An'  his  daughter!  My!  To 
be  sure,  she'd  drive  that  dog-gone  bus  right  up 
th'  side  of  that  cliff!  You'll  see  for  yourself. 
She'll  be  home  'fore  long  —  college  —  East  some- 
wheres." 

The  boy  looked  at  him  questioningly  but  said 
nothing.     ' '  College  —  East  —  home  'fore  long  - 
Might  it  not  form  a  link  between  this  new  and 


THE   TROUBLE   HUNTER  51 

that  old  —  a  peculiar  sort  of  link  —  as  peculiar 
as  this  sudden,  unwarranted  interest  in  this 
girl? 

Through  the  long  afternoon  Danny  eagerly 
awaited  the  coming  of  more  events,  more  distrac 
tions.  When  they  came  —  such  as  informative 
bursts  from  Jed  or  the  passing  of  the  automobile 
—  he  forgot  for  the  brief  passage  of  time  the 
throb  in  his  throat,  that  wailing  of  the  creature 
in  him.  But  when  the  two  rode  on  at  the  sham 
bling  trot,  with  the  silence  and  the  immense 
grandeur  all  about  them,  the  demands  of  his 
appetite  were  made  anew,  intensified  perhaps 
by  a  feeling  of  his  own  inconsequence,  by  the 
knowledge  that  should  he  fail  once  in  standing 
off  those  assaults  it  would  mean  only  another 
beginning,  and  harder  by  far  than  this  one  he 
was  experiencing. 

Every  hour  of  sober  reflection,  of  sordid  strug 
gle,  added  to  his  estimate  of  the  strength  of  that 
self  he  must  subdue.  He  was  going  away  into 
the  waste  places,  and  a  sneaking  fear  of  being 
removed  from  the  stuff  that  had  kept  him  keyed 
commenced  to  grow,  adding  to  the  fleshly  wants. 

If  he  should  be  whipped  and  a  surrender  be 
forced?  What  then?  He  realized  that  that 
doubting  was  cowardice.  He  had  come  out  here 
to  have  freedom,  a  new  beginning,  and  now  he 
found  himself  begging  for  a  way  back  should  the 
opposition  be  too  great.  It  was  sheer  weakness! 

Cautiously  Jed  Avery  had  watched  Danny's 


52  "_I  CONQUERED" 

face,  and  when  he  saw  anxiety  show  there  as 
doubt  rose,  he  broke  into  words: 

"Yes,  sir,  Charley  was  sure  a  good  boy,  but 
th'  booze  got  him." 

He  looked  down  at  his  horse's  withers  so  he 
could  not  see  the  start  this  assertion  gave  Danny. 

"He  didn't  want  to  be  bad,  but  it's  so  easy 
to  let  go.  To  be  sure,  it  is.  Anyhow,  Charley 
never  had  a  chance,  never  a  look-in.  He  was 
good  hearted  an'  meant  well  —  but  he  did  n't 
have  th'  backbone." 

And  Danny  found  that  a  rage  commenced  to 
rise  within  him,  a  rage  which  drove  back  those 
queries  that  had  made  him  weak. 

Day  waned.  The  sun  slid  down  oehind  the 
string  of  cliffs  which  stretched  on  before  them 
at  their  left.  Distances  took  on  their  purple 
veils,  a  canopy  of  virgin  silver  spread  above  the 
earth,  and  the  stillness  became  more  intense. 

"Right  on  here  a  bit  now  we'll  stop,"  Jed 
said.  "This  's  th'  Anchor  Ranch.  They're 
hayin',  an'  full  up.  We'll  get  somethin'  to  eat, 
though,  an'  feed  for  th'  ponies.  Then  we'll  sleep 
on  th'  ground.  Ever  do  it?" 

"Never." 

"Well,  you've  got  somethin'  comin',  then. 
With  a  sky  for  a  roof  a  man  gets  close  to  whatever 
he  calls  his  God  —  an'  to  himself.  Some  fellers 
out  here  never  seem  to  see  th'  point.  Funny. 
I  been  sleepin'  out,  off  an'  on,  for  longer  than  I 
like  to  think  about  —  an'  they's  a  feelin'  about 


THE  TROUBLE  HUNTER  53 

it  that  don't  come  from  nothin'  else  in  th'  world." 

"You  think  it's  a  good  thing,  then,  for  a  man 
to  get  close  to  himself?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do." 

' '  What  if  he 's  trying  to  get  away  from  himself  ? ' ' 

Jed  tugged  at  his  mustache  while  the  horses 
took  a  dozen  strides.  Then  he  said: 

"That  ain't  right.  When  a  man  thinks  he 
wants  to  get  away  from  himself,  that 's  th'  coyote 
in  him  talkin'.  Then  he  wants  to  get  closer'n 
ever;  get  down  close  an'  fight  again'  that  streak 
what's  come  into  him  an'  got  around  his  heart. 
Wants  to  get  down  an'  fight  like  sin!" 

He  whispered  the  last  words.  Then,  before 
Danny  could  form  an  answer,  he  said,  a  trifle 
gruffly : 

"Open  th'  gate.  I'll  ride  on  an'  turn  th' 
horses  back." 

They  entered  the  inclosure  and  rode  on  toward 
a  clump  of  buildings  a  half-mile  back  from  the 
road. 

Off  to  their  right  ran  a  strip  of  flat,  cleared  land. 
It  was  dotted  with  new  haystacks,  and  beyond 
them  they  could  see  waving  grass  that  remained 
to  be  cut.  At  the  corral  the  two  dismounted, 
Danny  stiffly  and  with  necessary  deliberation. 
As  they  commenced  unsaddling,  a  trio  of  hatless 
men,  bearing  evidences  of  a  strenuous  day's  labor, 
came  from  the  door  of  one  of  the  log  houses  to 
talk  with  Jed.  That  is,  they  came  ostensibly 
to  talk  with  Jed;  in  reality,  they  came  to  look  at 


54  "—I   CONQUERED" 

the  Easterner  wno  fumbled  awkwardly  with  his 
cinch. 

Danny  looked  at  them,  one  after  the  other, 
then  resumed  his  work.  Soon  a  new  voice  came 
to  his  ears,  speaking  to  Avery.  He  noticed  that 
where  the  little  man's  greeting  to  the  others  had 
been  full-hearted  and  buoyant,  it  was  now  curt, 
almost  unkind. 

Curious,  Danny  looked  up  again  —  looked  up  to 
meet  a  leer  from  a  pair  of  eyes  that  appeared 
to  be  only  half  opened;  green  eyes,  surrounded 
by  inflamed  lids,  under  protruding  brows  that 
boasted  but  little  hair,  above  high,  sunburned 
cheek  bones;  eyes  that  reflected  all  the  small 
meanness  that  lived  in  the  thin  lips  and  short 
chin.  As  he  looked,  the  eyes  leered  more  omi 
nously.  Then  the  man  spoke : 

"Long  ways  from  home,  ain't  you?" 

Although  he  looked  directly  at  Danny,  although 
he  put  the  question  to  him  and  to  him  alone, 
the  boy  pretended  to  misunderstand  —  chose  to 
do  so  because  in  the  counter  question  he  could 
express  a  little  of  the  quick  contempt,  the  instinc 
tive  loathing  that  sprang  up  for  this  man  who 
needed  not  to  speak  to  show  his  crude,  unreason 
ing,  militant  dislike  for  the  stranger,  and  whose 
words  only  gave  vent  to  the  spirit  of  the  bully. 

"Are  you  speaking  to  me?"  Danny  asked, 
and  the  cool  simplicity  of  his  expression  carried 
its  weight  to  those  who  stood  waiting  to  hear 
his  answer. 


THE  TROUBLE   HUNTER  55 

The  other  grinned,  his  mouth  twisting  at  an 
angle. 

"Who  else  round  here'd  be  far  from  home?" 
he  asked. 

Danny  turned  to  Jed. 

"How  far  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"A  hundred  an'  ten,"  Jed  answered,  a  swift 
pleasure  lighting  his  serious  face. 

Danny  turned  back  to  his  questioner. 

"I'm  a  hundred  and  ten  miles  from  home," 
he  said  with  the  same  simplicity,  and  lifted  the 
saddle  from  his  horse's  back. 

It  was  the  sort  of  clash  that  mankind  the 
world  over  recognizes.  No  angry  word  was 
spoken,  no  hostile  movement  made.  But  the 
spirit  behind  it  could  not  be  misunderstood. 

The  man  turned  away  with  a  forced  laugh 
which  showed  his  confusion.  He  had  been 
worsted,  he  knew.  The  smiles  of  those  who 
watched  and  listened  told  him  that.  It  stung 
him  to  be  so  easily  rebuffed,  and  his  laugh  boded 
ugly  things. 

"Don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him,"  cau 
tioned  Jed  as  they  threw  their  saddles  under  a 
shed.  "His  name's  Rhues,  an'  he's  a  nasty, 
snaky  cuss.  He'll  make  trouble  every  chance 
he  gets.  Don't  give  him  a  chance!" 

They  went  in  to  eat  with  the  ranch  hands.  A 
dozen  men  sat  at  one  long  table  and  bolted  im 
mense  quantities  of  food. 

The  boiled  beef,  the  thick,  lumpy  gravy,  the 


56  "_I   CONQUERED" 

discolored  potatoes,  the  coarse  biscuit  were  as 
strange  to  Danny  as  was  his  environment.  His 
initiation  back  at  Colt  had  not  brought  him 
close  to  such  crudity  as  this.  He  tasted  gingerly, 
and  then  condemned  himself  for  being  surprised 
to  find  the  food  good. 

"You're  a  fool!"  he  told  himself.  "This  is 
the  real  thing;  you've  been  dabbling  in  unre 
alities  so  long  that  you  've  lost  sense  of  the  virtue 
of  fundamentals.  No  frills  here,  but  there's 
substance!" 

He  looked  up  and  down  at  the  low-bent  faces, 
and  a  new  joy  came  to  him.     He  was  out  among 
men!     Crude,    genuine,    real    men!     It    was    an 
experience,  new  and  refreshing. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  contemplation  it  was 
as  though  fevered  fingers  clutched  his  throat. 
He  dropped  his  fork,  lifted  the  heavy  cup,  and 
drank  the  coffee  it  contained  in  scorching  gulps. 

Once  more  his  big  problem  had  pulled  him 
back,  and  he  wrestled  with  it — alone  among 
men! 

After  the  gorging  the  men  pushed  back  their 
chairs  and  yawned.  A  desultory  conversation 
waxed  to  lively  banter.  A  match  flared,  and  the 
talk  came  through  fumes  of  tobacco  smoke. 

"Anybody  got  th'  makin's?"  asked  Jed. 

"Here,"  muttered  Danny  beside  him,  and 
thrust  pouch  and  papers  into  his  hand. 

Danny  followed  Jed  in  the  cigarette  rolling, 
and  they  lighted  from  the  same  match  with  an 


THE    TROUBLE    HUNTER  57 

interchange  of  smiles  that  added  another  strand 
to  the  bond  between  them. 

"That's  good  tobacco,"  Jed  pronounced,  blow 
ing  out  a  whiff  of  smoke. 

"Ought  to  be;  it  cost  two  dollars  a  pound." 

Jed  laughed  queerly. 

"Yes,  it  ought  to,"  he  agreed,  "but  we've  got 
a  tobacco  out  here  they  call  Satin.  Ten  cents  a 
can.  It  tastes  mighty  good  to  us." 

Danny  sensed  a  gentle  rebuke,  but  he  somehow 
knew  that  it  was  given  in  all  kindliness,  that  it 
was  given  for  his  own  good. 

"While  I  fight  up  one  way,"  he  thought,  "I 
must    fight    down    another."     And    then    aloud: 
"We'll    stock   up    with   your   tobacco.     What's 
liked  by  one  ought  to  be  good  enough  for  — 
He  let  the  sentence  trail  off. 

Jed  answered  with:     "Both." 

And  the  spirit  behind  that  word  added  more 
strength  to  their  uniting  tie. 

The  day  had  been  a  hard  one.  Darkness 
came  quickly,  and  the  workers  straggled  off 
toward  the  bunk  house.  Tossing  away  the  butt 
of  his  cigarette,  Jed  proposed  that  they  turn  in. 

"I'm  tired,  and  you've  got  a  right  to  be," 
he  declared. 

They  walked  out  into  the  cool  of  evening.  A 
light  flared  in  the  bunk  house,  and  the  sound 
of  voices  raised  high  came  to  them. 

"Like  to  look  in?"  Avery  asked,  and  Danny 
thought  he  would. 


58  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Men  were  in  all  stages  of  undress.  Some  were 
already  in  their  beds;  others,  in  scant  attire, 
stood  in  mid-floor  and  talked  loudly.  From  one 
to  another  passed  Rhues.  In  his  hand  he  held 
a  bottle,  and  to  the  lips  of  each  man  in  turn  he 
placed  the  neck.  He  faced  Jed  and  Danny  as 
they  entered.  At  sight  of  the  stranger  a  quick 
hush  fell.  Rhues  stood  there,  bottle  in  hand, 
leering  again. 

"Jed,  you  don't  drink,"  he  said  in  his  drawling, 
insinuating  voice,  "but  mebby  yer  friend  here 
'uld  like  a  nightcap." 

He  advanced  to  Danny,  bottle  extended,  an 
evil  smile  on  his  face.  Jed  raised  a  hand  as  though 
to  interfere;  then  dropped  it.  His  jaw  settled 
in  grim  resolution,  his  nostrils  dilated,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  themselves  fast  on  Danny's  face. 

Oh,  the  wailing  eagerness  of  those  abused 
nerves!  The  cracking  of  that  tortured  throat! 
All  the  weariness  of  the  day,  of  the  week;  all  the 
sagging  of  spirit  under  the  assault  of  the  demon 
in  him  were  concentrated  now.  A  hot  wave 
swept  his  body.  The  fumes  set  the  blood  rushing 
to  his  eyes,  to  his  ears ;  made  him  reel.  His  hand 
wavered  up,  half  daring  to  reach  for  the  bottle, 
and  the  strain  of  his  drawn  face  dissolved  in  a 
weak  smile. 

Why  hold  off?  Why  battle  longer?  Why 
delay?  Why?  Why?  Why? 

Of  a  sudden  his  ears  rang  with  memory  of  his 
father's  brittle  voice  in  cold  denunciation,  and 


THE    TROUBLE    HUNTER  59 

the  quick  passing  of  that  illusion  left  another 
talking  there,  in  nasal  twang,  carrying  a  great 
sympathy. 

"No,  thanks,"  he  said  just  above  a  whisper. 
"I'm  not  drinking." 

He  turned  quickly  and  stepped  out  the  door. 

Through  the  confusion  of  sounds  and  ideas 
he  heard  the  rasping  laughter  of  Rhues,  and 
the  tone  of  it,  the  nasty,  jeering  note,  did 
much  to  clear  his  brain  and  bring  him  back  to 
the  fighting. 

Jed  walked  beside  him  and  they  crossed  to 
where  their  rolls  of  bedding  had  been  dropped, 
speaking  no  word.  As  they  stooped  to  pick  up 
the  stuff  the  older  man's  hand  fell  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  His  fingers  squeezed,  and  then  the 
palm  smote  Danny  between  the  shoulder  blades, 
soundly,  confidently.  Oh,  that  assurance!  This 
man  understood.  And  he  had  faith  in  this  wreck 
of  a  youth  that  he  had  seen  for  the  first  time  ten 
hours  before! 

Shaken,  tormented  though  he  was,  weakened 
by  the  sharp  struggle  of  a  moment  ago,  Danny 
felt  keenly  and  with  something  like  pride  that  it 
had  been  worth  the  candle.  He  knew,  too,  with 
a  feeling  of  comfort,  that  an  explanation  to  Jed 
would  never  be  necessary. 

Silently  they  spread  the  blankets  and,  with  a 
simple  "Good  night,"  crawled  in  between. 

Danny  had  never  before  slept  with  his  clothes 
on  —  when  sober.  He  had  never  snuggled  be- 


60  "__I   CONQUERED" 

tween  coarse  blankets  in  the  open.  But  somehow 
it  did  not  seem  strange;  it  was  all  natural,  as 
though  it  should  be  so. 

His  mind  went  round  and  round,  fighting  away 
the  tingling  odor  that  still  clung  in  his  nostrils, 
trying  to  blot  out  the  wondering  looks  on  the 
countenances  of  those  others  as  they  watched 
his  struggle  to  refuse  the  stuff  his  tormentor 
held  out  to  him. 

He  did  not  care  about  forgetting  how  Rhues's 
laughter  sounded.  Somehow  the  feeling  of  loath 
ing  for  the  man  for  a  time  distracted  his  thought 
from  the  pleading  of  his  throat,  augmented  the 
singing  of  that  chord  his  father  had  set  in  motion, 
bolstered  his  will  to  do,  to  conquer  this  thing! 

But  the  effect  was  not  enduring.  On  and  on 
through  the  narrow  channels  that  the  fevered 
condition  made  went  his  thinking;  forever  and 
forever  it  must  be  so  —  the  fighting,  fighting, 
fighting;  the  searching  for  petty  distractions  that 
would  make  him  forget  for  the  moment ! 

Suddenly  he  saw  that  there  were  stars  —  mil 
lions  upon  countless  millions  of  them  dusted  across 
the  dome  of  the  pale  heavens  as  carelessly  as  a 
baker  might  dust  silvered  sugar  over  the  icing  of 
a  festal  cake.  Big  stars  and  tiny  stars  and  mere 
little  diffusive  glows  of  light  that  might  come 
from  a  thousand  worlds,  clustering  together  out 
there  in  infinite  void.  Blue  stars  and  white 
stars,  orange  stars,  and  stars  that  glowed  red. 
Stars  that  sent  beams  through  incalculable  space 


THE   TROUBLE   HUNTER  61 

and  stars  that  swung  low,  that  seemed  almost 
attainable.  Stars  that  blinked  sleepily  and 
stars  that  stared  without  wavering,  purposeful, 
attentive.  Stars  alone  and  lonely;  stars  in 
bunches.  Stars  in  rows  and  patterns,  as  though 
put  there  with  design. 

Danny  breathed  deeply,  as  though  the  pure 
air  were  stuffy  and  he  needed  more  of  it,  for  the 
vagary  of  his  wandering  mind  had  carried  him 
back  to  the  place  where  light  points  were  arranged 
by  plan.  He  saw  again  the  electric-light  kitten 
and  the  spool  of  thread,  the  mineral-water  clock, 
the  cigarette  sign  with  flowing  border,  the  — 

Whisky  again!  He  moved  his  throbbing  head 
from  side  to  side. 

"Is  it  a  blank  wall?"  he  asked  quite  calmly. 
1 '  Shall  I  always  come  up  against  it  ?  Is  there  no 
way  out?" 


CHAPTER  V 

JED  PHILOSOPHIZES 

MORNING:  a  flickering  in  the  east  that 
gives  again  to  the  black  hold  of  night. 
Another  attempt,  a  longer  glimmer.  It  recedes, 
returns  stronger;  struggles,  bursts  from  the  pall 
of  darkness,  and  blots  out  the  stars  before  it. 
And  after  that  first  silver  white  come  soft  colors  — 
shoots  of  violet,  a  wave  of  pink,  then  the  golden 
glory  of  a  new  day. 

Jed  Avery  yawned  loud  and  lingeringly,  push 
ing  the  blankets  away  from  his  chin  with  blind, 
fumbling  motions.  He  thrust  both  arms  from 
the  covers  and  reached  above  his  head,  up  and 
up  and  —  up !  until  he  ended  with  a  satisfied 
groan.  He  sat  erect,  opening  and  shutting  his 
mouth,  rubbed  his  eyes  —  and  stopped  a  motion 
half  completed. 

Danny  Lenox  slept  with  lips  parted.  His 
brown  hair  —  the  hair  that  wanted  to  curl  so 
badly  —  was  well  down  over  the  brow,  and  the 
skin  beneath  those  locks  was  damp.  One  hand 
rested  on  the  tarpaulin  covering  of  the  bed,  the 
fingers  in  continual  motion. 

"Poor  kid!"  Jed  muttered  under  his  breath. 
"Poor  son  of  a  gun!  He's  in  a  jack-pot,  all 
right,  an'  it  '11  take  all  any  man  ever  had  to  pull  — 

62 


JED   PHILOSOPHIZES  65. 

1  'Mornin',  sonny!"  he  cried  as  Danny  opened' 
his  eyes  and  raised  his  head  with  a  start. 

For  a  moment  the  boy  stared  at  him,  evidencing 
no  recognition.  Then  he  smiled  and  sat  up. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Avery?" 

"Well,"  the  other  began  grimly,  looking  straight 
before  him,  "Mr.  Avery 's  in  a  bad  way.  He 
died  about  thirty  year  ago." 

Danny  looked  at  him  with  a  grin. 

"But  Old  Jed  — Old  VB,"  he  went  on,  "he's 
alive  an'  happy.  Fancy  wrappin's  is  for  boxes 
of  candy  an'  playin'  cards,"  he  explained.  "They 
ain't  necessary  to  men." 

' '  I  see  —  all  right,  Jed ! ' ' 

Danny  stared  about  him  at  the  freshness  of  the 
young  day. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  slick,"  Jed  wanted  to  know, 
"if  we  was  all  fixed  like  th'  feller  who  makes  th' 
days?  If  yesterday's  was  a  bad  job  he  can  start 
right  in  on  this  one  an'  make  it  a  winner!  Now, 
if  this  day  turns  out  bad  he  can  forget  it  an' 
begin  to-morrow  at  sun-up  to  try  th'  job  all  over 
again ! ' ' 

"Yes,  it  would  be  fine  to  have  more  chances," 
agreed  Danny. 

Jed  sat  silent  a  moment. 

"Mebby  so,  an'  mebby  no,"  he  finally  recanted. 
"It  would  be  slick  an'  easy,  all  right;  but  mebby 
we'd  get  shiftless.  Mebby  we'd  keep  puttin' 
off  tryin'  hard  until  next  time.  As  't  ?.s,  we  have 
to  make  every  chance  our  only  one,  an'  work 


64  "_I   CONQUERED" 

ourselves  to  th'  limit.     Never  let  a  chance  get 
away!    Throw  it  an'  tie  it  an'  hang  on!" 
"In  other  words,  think  it's  now  or  never?" 
Jed  reached  for  a  boot  and  declared  solemnly: 
"It's  th'  only  thing  that  keeps  us  onery  human 
bein's  on  our  feet  an'  movin'  along!" 

Breakfast  was  a  brief  affair,  brief  but  enthu 
siastic.  The  gastronomic  feats  performed  at  that 
table  were  things  at  which  to  marvel,  and  Danny 
divided  his  thoughts  between  wonder  at  them 
and  recalling  the  events  of  the  night  before. 
Only  once  did  he  catch  Rhues's  eyes,  and  then 
the  leer  which  came  from  them  whipped  a  flush 
high  in  his  cheeks. 

Jed  and  Danny  rode  out  into  the  morning  side 
by  side,  smoking  some  of  the  boy's  tobacco. 
As  the  sun  mounted  and  the  breeze  did  not  rise, 
the  heat  became  too  intense  for  a  coat,  and  Danny 
stripped  his  off  and  tied  it  behind  the  saddle. 
Jed  looked  at  the  pink  silk  shirt  a  long  time. 

"To  be  sure  an'  that's  a  fine  piece  of  goods," 
he  finally  declared. 

Danny  glanced  down  at  the  gorgeous  garment 
with  a  mingled  feeling  of  amusement  and  guilt. 
But  he  merely  said: 

"I  thought  so,  too,  when  I  bought  it." 
And  even  that  little  tendency  toward  foppish 
ness  which  has  been  handed  down  to  men  from 
those  ancestors  who  paraded  in  their  finest  skins 
and  paints  before  the  home  of  stalwart  cave 
women  seemed  to  draw  the  two  closer  to  each  other. 


JED   PHILOSOPHIZES  65 

As  though  he  could  sense  the  young  chap's 
bewilderment  and  wonder  at  the  life  about  him, 
Jed  related  much  that  pertained  to  his  own  work. 

"Yes,  I  raise  some  horses,"  he  concluded,  "but 
I  sell  a  lot  of  wild  ones,  too.  It 's  fun  chasin'  'em, 
and  it  gets  to  be  a  habit  with  a  feller.  I  like  it 
an'  can  make  a  livin'  at  it,  so  why  should  I  go 
into  cattle?  Those  horses  are  out  there  in  th' 
hills,  runnin'  wild,  like  some  folks,  an'  doin' 
nobody  no  good.  I  catch  'em  an'  halter-break 
'em  an'  they  go  to  th'  river  an'  get  to  be  of  use 
to  somebody." 

"Is  n't  it  a  job  to  catch  them?"  Danny  asked. 

"Well,  I  guess  so!"  Jed's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Some  of  'em  are  wiser  than  a  bad  man. 
Why,  up  in  our  country's  a  stallion  that  ain't 
never  had  a  rope  on  him.  Th'  Captain  we've 
got  to  call  him.  He's  th'  wildest  an'  wisest 
critter,  horse  or  human,  you  ever  see.  Eight 
years  old,  an'  all  his  life  he's  been  chased  an' 
never  touched.  He 's  big  —  not  so  big  in  weight ; 
big  like  this  here  man  Napoleon,  I  mean.  He 
rules  th'  range.  He  has  th'  best  mares  on  th' 
mountain  in  his  bunch,  an'  he  handles  'em  like 
a  king.  We've  tossed  down  our  whole  hand 
time  an'  again,  but  he  always  beats  us  out. 
We're  no  nearer  catchin'  him  to-day  than  we 
was  when  he  run  a  yearlin'." 

The  little  man's  voice  rose  shrilly  and  his  eyes 
flashed  until  Danny,  gazing  on  him,  caught  some 
of  his  fever  and  felt  it  run  to  the  ends  of  his  body. 


66  "_I   CONQUERED" 

"Oh,  but  that 's  a  horse ! "  Jed  went  on.  "  Why, 
just  to  see  him  standin'  up  on  the  sky  line,  head 
up,  tail  arched-like,  ready  to  run,  not  scared, 
just  darin'  us  to  come  get  him  —  well,  it's  worth 
a  hard  ride.  There's  somethin'  about  th'  Cap 
tain  that  keeps  us  from  hatin'  him.  By  all 
natural  rights  somebody  ought  to  shoot  a  stallion 
that'll  run  wild  so  long  an'  drive  off  bunches  of 
gentle  mares  an'  make  'em  crazy  wild.  But 
no.  Nobody  on  Red  Mountain  or  nobody  who 
ever  chased  th'  Captain  has  wanted  to  harm 
him;  yet  I've  heard  men  swear  until  it  would 
make  your  hair  curl  when  they  was  runnin'  him! 
He's  that  kind.  He  gets  to  somethin'  that's  in 
real  men  that  makes  'em  light  headed.  I  guess 
it's  his  strength.  He's  bigger 'n  tricks,  that 
horse.  He's  learned  all  about  traps  an'  such, 
an'  th'  way  men  generally  catch  wild  horses  don't 
bother  him  at  all.  Lordy,  boy,  but  th'  Captain 's 
somethin'  to  set  up  nights  an'  talk  about!" 

His  voice  dropped  on  that  declaration,  almost 
in  reverence. 

"Well,  he's  so  wise  and  strong  that  he'll  just 
keep  right  on  running  free;  is  that  the  idea?" 
asked  Danny. 

Jed  gnawed  off  a  fresh  chew  and  repocketed 
the  plug,  shifted  in  his  saddle,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"Nope,  I  guess  not,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
don't  reckon  so,  because  it  ain't  natural;  it  ain't 
th'  way  things  is  done  in  this  world.  Did  you 


JED   PHILOSOPHIZES  67 

ever  stop  to  think  that  of  all  th'  strong  things  us 
men  has  knowed  about  somethin'  has  always 
turned  up  to  be  a  little  bit  stronger?  We've 
been  all  th'  time  pattin'  ourselves  on  th'  back 
an'  sayin',  'There,  we've  gone  an'  done  it;  that'll 
last  forever!'  an'  then  watchin'  a  wind  or  a  rain 
carry  off  what  we've  thought  was  so  strong. 
Either  that,  I  say,  or  else  we  've  been  fallin'  down 
on  our  knees  an'  prayin'  for  help  to  stop  somethin' 
new  an'  powerful  that's  showed  up.  An'  when 
prayin'  did  n't  do  no  good  up  pops  somebody 
with  an  idea  that  th'  Lord  wants  us  folks  to  carry 
th'  heavy  end  of  th'  load  in  such  matters,  an'  gets 
busy  workin'.  An'  his  job  ends  up  by  makin' 
somethin'  so  strong  that  it  satisfied  all  them 
prayers  —  folks  bein'  that  unparticular  that  they 
don't  mind  where  th'  answer  comes  from  so  long 
as  it  comes  an'  they  gets  th'  benefits! 

"That's  th'  way  it  is  all  th'  time.  We  wake 
up  in  th'  mornin'  an'  see  somethin'  so  discour- 
agin'  that  we  want  to  crawl  back  to  bed  an'  quit 
tryin';  then  we  stop  to  think  that  nothin'  has 
ever  been  so  great  or  so  strong  that  it  kept  right 
on  havin'  its  own  way  all  th'  time;  an'  we  get 
our  sand  up  an'  pitch  in,  an'  pretty  soon  we're 
on  top! 

"All  we  need  is  th'  sand  to  tackle  big  jobs; 
just  bein'  sure  that  they's  some  way  of  doin' 
or  preventin'  an'  makin'  a  reg'lar  hunt  for  that 
one  thing.  So  't  is  with  th'  Captain.  He's 
fooled  us  a  long  time  now,  but  some  day  a  man  '11 


68  "_I   CONQUERED" 

come  along  who's  wiser  than  th'  Captain,  an' 
he'll  get  caught. 

"Nothin'  strange  about  it.  Just  th'  workin' 
out  of  things.  'Course,  it'll  all  depend  on  th' 
man.  Mebby  some  of  us  on  th'  mountain  has 
th'  brains;  mebby  some  others  has  th'  sand,  but 
th'  combination  ain't  been  struck  yet.  We 
ain't  men  enough.  Th'  feller  who  catches  that 
horse  has  got  to  be  all  man,  just  like  th'  feller 
who  beats  out  any  thin'  else  that's  hard;  got  to 
be  man  all  th'  way  through.  If  he's  only  part 
man  an'  tackles  th'  job  he 's  likely  to  get  tromped 
on;  if  he's  all  man,  he'll  do  th'  ridin'." 

Jed  stopped  talking  and  gazed  dreamily  at 
the  far  horizon;  dreamily,  but  with  an  eye  which 
moved  a  trifle  now  and  then  to  take  into  its  range 
the  young  chap  who  rode  beside  him.  Danny's 
head  was  down,  facing  the  dust  which  rose  from 
the  feet  of  the  horses  ahead.  The  biting  particles 
irritated  the  membrane  of  his  throat,  but  for  the 
moment  he  did  not  heed.  "Am  I  a  man  —  all 
the  way  through?"  he  kept  asking  himself.  "All 
the  way  through?" 

And  then  his  nerves  stung  him  vicious  y, 
shrieking  for  the  stimulant  which  had  fed  them 
so  long  and  so  well.  His  aching  muscles  pleaded 
for  it;  his  heart,  miserable  and  lonely,  missed  the 
close,  reckless  friendships  of  those  days  so  shortly 
removed,  in  spite  of  his  realization  of  what  those 
relations  had  meant ;  he  yearned  for  the  warming, 
heedless  thrills;  his  eyes  ached  and  called  out  for 


JED   PHILOSOPHIZES  69 

just  the  one  draft  that  would  make  them  alert, 
less  hurtful. 

From  every  joint  in  his  body  came  the  begging ! 
But  that  chord  down  in  his  heart  still  vibrated; 
his  father's  arraignment  was  in  his  ears,  its  truth 
ringing  clearly.  The  incentive  to  forge  ahead, 
to  stop  the  wasting,  grew  bigger,  and  his  will 
stood  stanch  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  spinning 
brain  played  such  tricks  as  making  the  click  of 
pebbles  sound  like  the  clink  of  ice  in  glasses! 

Then,  too,  there  was  Jed,  the  big-hearted, 
beside  him.  And  Jed  was  saying,  after  a  long 
silence,  as  though  he  still  thought  of  his  theme: 
' '  Yes,  sir,  us  men  can  do  any  old  thing  if  we  only 
think  so!  Nothin'  has  ever  been  too  much  for 
us;  nothin'  ever  will  —  if  we  only  keep  on  thinkin' 
as  men  ought  to  think  an'  respectin'  ourselves." 

Thus  they  traveled,  side  by  side,  the  one 
fighting,  the  other  uttering  his  homely  truths  and 
watching,  always  watching,  noting  effects,  detect 
ing  temptations  when  the  strain  across  the  worried 
brow  and  about  the  tight  mouth  approached  the 
breaking  point.  With  keen  intuition  he  went 
down  into  the  young  fellow  and  found  the  vibrat 
ing  chord,  the  one  that  had  been  set  humming 
by  scorn  and  distrust.  But  instead  of  abusing 
it,  instead  of  goading  it  on,  Jed  nursed  it,  fed  it, 
strengthening  the  chord  itself  with  his  philosophy 
and  his  optimism. 

They  went  on  down  Ant  Creek,  past  the  ranches 
which  spread  across  the  narrow  valley.  Again 


70  "_I   CONQUERED" 

they  slept  under  the  open  skies,  and  Danny  once 
more  marveled  at  the  stars. 

That  second  morning  was  agony,  but  Jed  knew 
no  relenting. 

"You're  sore  an'  stiff,"  he  said,  "but  keepin' 
at  a  thing  when  it  hurts  is  what  counts,  is  what 
gets  a  feller  well  —  an'  that  applies  to  more  things 
than  saddle  sores,  too." 

He  said  the  last  as  though  aside,  but  the  point 
carried. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  where  it  flows  into 
Clear  River,  they  swung  to  the  west  and  went 
downstream.  Danny's  condition  became  only 
semi-conscious.  His  head  hung,  his  eyes  were 
but  half  opened.  Living  resolved  itself  into  three 
things.  First  and  second:  the  thundering  de 
mands  and  the  stubborn  resistance  of  his  will. 
When  Jed  spoke  and  roused  him  the  remaining 
element  come  to  the  fore:  his  physical  suffering. 
That  agony  became  more  and  more  acute  as  the 
miles  passed,  but  in  spite  of  its  sharpness  it 
required  the  influence  of  his  companion's  voice 
to  awaken  him  to  its  reality. 

Always,  in  a  little  back  chamber  of  his  mind, 
was  a  bit  of  glowing  warmth  —  his  newly  born 
love  for  the  man  who  rode  beside  him. 

It  was  night  when  they  reached  the  ranch. 
' '  We  're  arrived,  sonny !    This  is  home ! ' '  cried  Jed, 
slapping  Danny  on  the  shoulder.      ' '  Our  home. ' ' 
The  boy  mastered  his  senses  with  an  effort. 


JED    PHILOSOPHIZES  71 

When  he  dismounted  he  slumped  to  one  knee 
and  Jed  had  to  help  him  stand  erect. 

Danny  remembered  nothing  of  the  bed  going, 
nor  could  he  tell  how  long  the  little,  gray-haired 
man  stood  over  him,  muttering  now  and  then, 
rubbing  his  palms  together;  nor  of  how,  when 
he  turned  toward  the  candle  on  the  table,  burning 
steadily  and  brightly  there  in  the  night  like  a 
young  Crusader  fighting  back  the  shadows  into  the 
veriest  corner  of  the  room,  his  eyes  were  misted. 

It  was  a  strange  awakening,  that  wThich  followed. 
Danny  felt  as  though  he  had  slept  through  a 
whole  phase  of  his  existence.  At  first  he  was  not 
conscious  of  his  surroundings,  did  not  try  to 
remember  where  he  was  or  what  had  gone  before. 
He  lay  on  his  back,  mantled  in  a  strange  peace, 
wonderfully  content.  Torture  seemed  to  have  left 
him,  bodily  torments  had  fled.  His  heart  pumped 
slowly ;  a  vague,  pleasing  weakness  was  in  his  bones. 
It  was  rest  —  rest  after  achievement,  the  achieve 
ment  of  stability,  the  arrival  at  a  goal. 

Then,  breaking  into  full  consciousness,  his 
nostrils  detected  odors.  He  sniffed  slightly, 
scarcely  knowing  that  he  did  so.  Cooking!  It 
was  unlike  other  smells  from  places  of  cookery 
that  he  had  known;  it  was  attractive,  compelling. 

All  that  had  happened  since  his  departure 
from  Colt  came  back  to  him  with  his  first  move 
ment.  His  body  was  a  center  of  misery,  as 
though  it  were  shot  full  of  needles,  as  though  it 
had  been  stretched  on  a  rack,  then  blistered. 


72  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Dressing  was  accomplished  to  the  accompaniment 
of  many  grunts  and  quick  intakings  of  breath. 

When  he  tried  to  walk  he  found  that  the  process 
was  necessarily  slow — slower  than  it  had  ever  been 
before.  Setting  each  foot  before  the  other  gingerly, 
as  if  in  experiment,  he  walked  across  the  tiny  room 
toward  the  larger  apartment  of  the  cabin. 

"Mornin'!"  cried  Jed,  closing  the  oven  door 
with  a  gentleness  that  required  the  service  of 
both  hands.  "I  allowed  you'd  be  up  about  now. 
Just  step  outside  an'  wash  an'  it'll  be  about 
ready.  Can  you  eat?  Old  VB  sure  can  build  a 
breakfast,  an'  he's  never  done  better  than  this." 

"By  the  smell,  I  judge  so,"  said  Danny. 

The  warm  breath  of  baking  biscuits  came  to 
him  from  the  oven.  A  sputtering  gurgle  on  the 
stove  told  that  something  fried.  The  aroma  of 
coffee  was  in  the  air,  too,  and  Jed  lifted  eggs 
from  a  battered  pail  to  drop  them  into  a  steaming 
kettle.  The  table,  its  plain  top  scrubbed  to 
whiteness,  wras  set  for  two,  and  the  sunlight  that 
streamed  through  the  window  seemed  to  be  all 
caught  and  concentrated  in  a  great  glass  jar  of 
honey  that  served  as  a  centerpiece. 

Danny's  eyes  and  nostrils  and  ears  took  it  all 
in  as  he  moved  toward  the  outer  doorway.  When 
he  gained  it  he  paused,  a  hand  on  the  low  lintel, 
and  looked  out  upon  his  world. 

Away  to  the  south  stretched  the  gulch,  rolling 
of  bottom,  covered  with  the  gray-green  sage. 
Over  east  rose  the  stern  wall,  scarred  and  split, 


JED    PHILOSOPHIZES  73 

with  cedars  clinging  in  the  interstices,  their  forms 
dark  green  against  the  saffron  of  the  rocks.  Up 
above,  towering  into  the  unstained  sky  of  morn 
ing,  a  rounded,  fluted  peak,  like  the  crowning 
achievement  of  some  vast  cathedral. 

The  sun  was  just  in  sight  above  the  cliff,  but 
Danny  knew  that  day  was  aging,  and  felt,  with 
his  peace,  a  sudden  sharp  affection  for  the  old 
man  who,  with  an  indulgence  that  was  close  to 
motherly,  had  let  him  sleep.  It  made  him  feel 
young  and  incompetent,  yet  it  was  good,  com 
forting  —  like  the  peace  of  that  great  stillness 
about  him. 

Except  for  the  soft  sounds  from  the  stove, 
there  was  no  break.  Above,  on  the  ridges,  a 
breeze  might  be  blowing;  but  not  an  intimation 
of  it  down  here.  Just  quiet  —  silvery  and  holy. 

The  sun  shoved  itself  clear  of  the  screening 
trees.  A  jack  rabbit,  startled  by  nothing  at  all, 
sprang  from  its  crouching  under  a  brush  shelter 
and  made  off  across  the  gulch  with  the  jerky 
lightness  of  a  stone  skipping  on  water.  As  he 
bobbed  the  grass  and  bushes  dewdrops  flew  from 
them,  catching  sunbeams  as  they  hurtled  out 
to  their  death,  for  one  instant  of  wondrous  glory 
flashing  like  gems. 

Danny  Lenox,  late  of  New  York,  drew  a  deep, 
quivering  breath  and  leaned  his  head  against 
the  crude  doorway.  He  was  sore  and  weak  and 
felt  almost  hysterical,  but  perhaps  this  was  only 
because  he  was  so  happy! 


CHAPTER  VI 

AMBITION  Is  BORN 

A  ND  then  began  Danny's  apprenticeship. 
^~*>  Jed,  the  wise,  did  not  delay  activity.  He 
commenced  with  the  boy  as  soon  as  breakfast 
had  been  eaten  and  the  dishes  washed. 

That  first  day  they  shod  a  horse,  Danny  doing 
nothing  really,  but  taking  orders  from  Jed  as 
though  the  weight  of  a  vast  undertaking  rested 
on  his  shoulders. 

The  next  day  they  mended  fences  from  early 
morning  until  evening. 

Gradually  the  realization  came  to  Danny  that 
he  was  doing  something,  that  he  was  filling  a 
legitimate  place  —  small,  surely:  nevertheless  he 
was  being  of  use,  he  was  creating.  A  pleasing 
sensation!  One  of  the  few  truly  wholesome 
delights  he  had  ever  experienced.  Danny  thought 
about  it  with  almost  childish  happiness;  then, 
letting  his  mind  return  again  to  the  established 
rut,  he  was  surprised  to  know  that  mere  thinking 
about  his  simple,  homely  duties  had  stilled  for 
the  time  it  endured  the  restless  creature  within 
him. 

The  boy's  bodily  hurts  righted  themselves. 
Long  hours  of  sleep  did  more  than  anything  else 
to  speed  recovery.  Those  first  two  nights  he 

74 


AMBITION   IS  BORN  75 

was  between  covers  before  darkness  came  to  the 
gulch,  and  Jed  let  him  sleep  until  the  sun  was 
well  up. 

On  the  third  evening  they  sat  outside,  Danny 
watching  Jed  put  a  new  half-sole  on  a  cast-off 
riding  boot. 

"They're  your  size,"  the  old  man  said,  "an' 
you'll  have  to  wear  boots,  to  be  sure.  Them 
things  you  got  on  ain't  what  I'd  call  exactly 
fitted  to  ridin'  a  horse." 

Danny  looked  down  at  his  modish  Oxfords  and 
smiled.  Then  he  glanced  up  at  the  man  beside 
him,  who  hammered  and  cut  and  grunted  while 
he  worked  as  though  his  very  immortality  de 
pended  on  getting  those  boots  ready  for  his  new 
hand  to  wear. 

Oh,  the  boy  from  the  city  could  not  then 
appreciate  the  big  feeling  of  man  for  mankind 
which  prompted  such  humble  labor.  It  was  a 
labor  of  love,  the  mere  mending  of  that  stiff  old 
boot!  In  it  Jed  Avery  found  the  encompassing 
happiness  which  comes  to  those  who  understand, 
happiness  of  the  same  sort  he  had  felt  back  there 
at  Colt  when  he  saw  that  there  was  a  human 
being  who  needed  help  and  that  it  was  in  his 
power  to  give  him  that  help.  And  the  peace  this 
happiness  engendered  created  an  atmosphere 
which  soothed  and  made  warm  the  heart  of  the 
boy,  though  he  did  not  know  why. 

"Guess  we'd  better  move  inside  an'  get  a 
lighv,"'  Jed  muttered  finally.  "I'll  shut  the 


76  "_I  CONQUERED" 

corral  gate.  You  light  th'  candle,  will  you? 
It's  on  th'  shelf  over  th'  table  —  stickin'  in  a 
bottle." 

Danny  watched  him  go  away  into  the  dusk 
and  heard  the  creak  of  the  big  gate  swinging  shut 
before  he  stepped  into  the  house  and  groped  his 
way  along  for  the  shelf.  He  found  it  after  a 
moment  and  fumbled  along  for  the  candle  Jed 
had  said  was  there.  His  fingers  closed  on  some 
thing  hard  and  cold  and  cylindrical.  He  slid 
his  fingers  upward;  then  staggered  back  with  a 
half-cry. 

"What's  wrong?"  asked  Jed,  coming  into  the 
house. 

Danny  did  not  answer  him,  so  the  old  man 
stepped  forward  toward  the  shelf.  In  a  moment 
a  match  flared;  the  cold  wick  of  the  candle  took 
the  flame,  warmed,  sent  it  higher,  and  a  glow 
filled  the  room. 

The  boy  looked  out  from  eyes  that  were  dark 
and  wide  and  filled  with  the  old  horror.  The 
hand  held  near  his  lips  shook,  and  he  turned  on 
Jed  a  look  that  pleaded,  then  gazed  back  at  the 
light. 

The  candle  was  stuck  in  the  neck  of  a  whisky 
bottle. 

Danny  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  the  words 
would  not  come.  That  terror  was  back  again, 
shattering  his  sense  of  peace,  melting  the  words 
in  his  throat  with  its  heat. 

Jed  moved  near  to  him. 


AMBITION   IS  BORN  77 

"It's  a  bright  light  —  for  such  a  little  candle," 
he  said  slowly,  and  a  stout  assurance  was  in  his 
tone. 

' '  But  I  —  I  touched  the  bottle  —  in  the  dark ! ' 

Danny's  voice  was  high  and  strained,  and  the 
words,  when  finally  they  did  come,  tripped  over 
one  another  in  nervous  haste.  His  knees  were 
weak  under  him.  Such  was  the  strength  of  the 
tentacles  which  reached  up  to  stay  his  struggles 
and  to  drag  him  back  into  the  depths  from  which 
he  willed  to  rise.  Such  was  the  weakness  of  the 
nervous  system  on  which  the  strain  of  the  ordeal 
was  placed. 

Jed  put  a  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder  and  gazed 
into  the  drawn  face. 

"It's  all  right,  sonny,"  he  said  softly,  his  voice 
modulating  from  twang  to  tenderness  in  the 
manner  it  had.  "Most  men  touches  it  in  th' 
dark.  But  don't  you  see  what  this  bottle's  for? 
Don't  you  see  that  candle?  Burnin'  away  there, 
corkin'  up  th'  bottle,  givin'  us  light  so  we  can 
see?" 

Then  the  other  hand  went  up  to  the  boy's 
other  shoulder,  and  the  little  old  rancher  shook 
young  Danny  Lenox  gently,  as  though  to  joggle 
him  back  to  himself. 

"I  know,  sonny,"  he  said  softly.  "I  know  — " 
Then  he  turned  away  quickly  and  smote  his 
palms  together  with  a  sharp  crack. 

"Now  get  to  bed.  I'll  finish  these  here  boots 
to-night  and  in  th'  mornin'  we  ride.  If  you're 


78  "__I   CONQUERED" 

goin'  to  get  to  be  a  top  hand,  we've  got  to  quit 
foolin'  around  home  an'  get  to  learn  th'  country. 
They 's  a  lot  of  colts  we  got  to  brand  an'  a  bunch 
of  wild  ones  to  gather.  It  means  work  —  lots  of 
it  —  for  you  an'  me!" 

He  set  to  work,  busily  thumping  on  the  boot. 

In  the  morning,  Danny  was  subdued,  subdued 
and  shaking.  The  spontaneity  that  had  char 
acterized  his  first  days  on  the  ranch  had  departed. 
He  was  still  eager  for  activity,  but  not  for  the 
sake  of  the  new  experiences  in  themselves.  That 
gnawing  was  again  in  his  throat,  tearing  his 
flesh,  it  seemed,  and  to  still  the  trembling  of  his 
hand  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  clutch  the 
saddle  horn  and  keep  his  fingers  clamped  tightly 
about  it  as  they  rode  along. 

They  climbed  out  of  the  gulch,  horses  picking 
their  way  up  an  almost  impossible  trail,  and  on  a 
high  ridge,  where  country  rolled  and  tossed  about 
them  for  immeasurable  distances,  Jed  stopped 
and  pointed  out  the  directions  to  his  companion. 

Thirty  miles  to  the  south  was  Clear  River 
with  its  string  of  ranches,  and  the  town  of  Ranger, 
their  post  office.  Twenty  miles  to  the  southeast 
was  the  S  Bar  S  Ranch,  the  center  of  the  coun 
try's  cattle  activity,  and  over  west,  on  Sand 
Creek,  a  dozen  miles'  ride  across  the  hills  and 
double  that  distance  by  road,  was  another  scatter 
ing  of  ranches  where  Dick  Worth,  deputy  sheriff 
for  that  end  of  Clear  River  Coujlty,  lived. 


AMBITION   IS  BORN  79 

"An'  to  th'  north  of  us,"  continued  Jed,  with 
a  sweep  of  his  hand,  "they's  nothin'  but  hills  - 
clean  to  Wyoming!  We're  on  th'  outskirts  of 
settlements.  South  of  th'  river  it's  all  ranches, 
but  north  —  nothin'.  Couple  of  summer  camps 
but  no  ranches.  It's  a  great  get-away  country, 
all  right!" 

The  riding  was  easy  that  day,  and  in  spite 
of  his  stiffness  Danny  wished  it  were  harder, 
because  the  turmoil  kept  up  within  him,  and 
even  the  unbroken  talk  of  Jed,  giving  him  an 
intelligent,  interesting  idea  of  the  country,  could 
not  crowd  out  his  disquieting  thoughts. 

But  it  was  easier  the  next  day,  and  Danny  took 
a  deep  interest  in  the  hunt  for  a  band  of  mares 
with  colts  that  should  be  branded.  Jed's  low, 
warning  "H-s-s-t!  There  they  are!"  set  his 
heart  pounding  wildly,  and  he  listened  eagerly 
to  the  directions  the  old  man  gave  him;  then  he 
waited  in  high  excitement  while  Jed  circled  and 
got  behind  the  bunch. 

The  horses  came  toward  him,  and  Danny,  at 
Jed's  shout,  commenced  to  ride  for  the  ranch. 
It  was  a  new,  an  odd,  an  interesting  game.  The 
horses  came  fast  and  faster.  Now  and  then  to 
his  ears  floated  Jed's  repeated  cry:  "Keep 
goin'!  Keep  ahead!"  And  he  spurred  on,  won 
dering  at  every  jump  how  his  horse  could  possibly 
keep  his  feet  longer  in  that  awful  footing. 

But  he  had  faith  in  the  stout  little  beast  he 
rode,  and  his  spirit  was  of  the  sort  that  would' 


8o  "_I  CONQUERED" 

not  question  when  a  man  as  skilled  in  the  game 
as  was  Jed  urged  him  along. 

The  mares  with  their  colts  pressed  closely,  but 
Danny  kept  going,  kept  urging  speed.  Straight 
on  for  the  ranch  he  headed,  and  when  they  reached 
the  level  bottom  of  the  gulch  the  race  waxed 
warm. 

"Into  th'  round  corral!"  cried  Jed.  "Keep 
goin'!  You're  doin'  fine!" 

And  into  the  round  corral  Danny  headed  his 
mount,  while  the  nose  of  the  lead  mare  reached 
out  at  his  pony's  flank. 

The  gate  swung  shut ;  the  mares  trotted  around 
the  inclosure,  worried,  for  there  their  offspring 
had  been  taken  from  them  before.  The  coits 
hung  close  to  their  mothers,  snorting  and  rolling 
their  wide  eyes,  while  the  saddle  horses  stood 
with  legs  apart,  getting  their  wind. 

Danny's  eyes  sparkled. 

"That's  sport!"  he  declared.  "But,  say,  will 
these  horses  always  follow  a  rider  that  way?" 

Jed  loosed  his  cinch  before  he  answered: 
"Horses  is  like  some  men.  As  long  as  they're 
bein'  pushed  from  behind  an'  they's  somebody 
goin'  ahead  of  'em,  they  '11  follow  —  follow  right 
through  high  water!  But  once  let  'em  get  past 
th'  rider  who's  supposed  to  be  holdin'  'em  up  — 
why,  then  they's  no  handlin'  'em  at  all.  They 
scatter  an'  go  their  own  way,  remainin'  free. 

"As  I  said,  they're  like  men.  To  be  sure, 
lots  of  men  has  got  to  give  that  what's  leadin' 


AMBITION   IS  BORN  81 

'em  such  a  run  that  they  beat  it  to  death  an'  get 
a  chance  to  go  free!" 

Danny  rubbed  his  horse's  drenched  withers 
and  agreed  with  a  nod  as  Jed  walked  over  to  the 
gate  and  fumbled  with  the  fastening. 

"Say,"  he  said,  turning  round,  "I  like  th'  way 
you  ride!" 

Danny  looked  up  quickly,  pleased. 

"I'm  glad,"  he  said,  but  in  the  simple  assertion 
was  a  great  self-pride. 

"Most  fellers  strange  in  th'  country  wouldn't 
fancy  takin'  that  kind  of  a  bust  down  off  a  point. 
No,  sir.  Not  such  a  ride  for  us  old  heads,  but 
for  a  greenhorn  -  Well,  I  guess  you'll  get  to  be 
a  top  hand  some  day,  all  right!" 

And  the  influence  which  more  than  all  else 
was  to  help  Danny  become  a  top  hand,  which 
was  to  set  up  in  his  heart  the  great  ambition, 
which  was  to  hold  itself  up  as  a  blazing  ideal, 
came  early  in  his  novitiate  as  a  horse  hunter  — 
came  in  a  fitting  setting,  on  a  day  richly  golden, 
when  the  air  seemed  filled  with  a  haze  of  holy 
incense,  holy  with  the  holiness  of  beauty.  It 
was  one  of  those  mountain  days  when  the  immen 
sity  of  nature  becomes  so  obvious  and  so  potent 
that  even  the  beasts  leave  off  their  hunting  or 
their  grazing  to  gaze  into  wondrous  distances. 
The  sage  is  green  and  brash  in  the  near  sunlight, 
soft  and  purple  out  yonder;  the  hills  sharp  and 
hard  and  detailed  under  the  faultless  sky  for 
unthinkable  miles  about,  then  soft  and  vague, 


82  "_I   CONQUERED" 

melting  in  color  and  line,  rolling,  reaching,  tossing 
in  a  repetition  of  ranges  until  eyes  ache  in  follow 
ing  them  and  men  are  weak  about  their  middles 
from  the  feeling  of  vastnesses  to  which  measure 
ments  by  figures  are  profane. 

Jed  and  Danny  searched  for  horses  along  two 
parallel  ridges.  Now  and  then  they  saw  each 
other,  but  for  the  most  part  it  had  been  a  day 
of  solitary  riding. 

Late  afternoon  arrived,  and  Danny  had  about 
abandoned  hope  of  success.  He  was  considering 
the  advisability  of  mounting  the  ridge  above 
the  gulch  into  which  he  had  ridden  and  locating 
Jed,  though  loath  to  leave  the  solitudes. 

His  pony  picked  them  out  and  stopped  before 
Danny's  eyes  registered  the  sight.  The  boy 
searched  quickly,  and  over  against  a  clump  of 
cedars,  halfway  up  the  rise,  he  saw  horses. 

"No,  that's  not  they,"  he  muttered.  "Jed  said 
there  were  two  white  mares  among  them.  Not — ' ' 

His  pony  started  under  him,  gave  a  sharp  little 
shudder,  then  moved  a  step  backward  and  stood 
still,  a  barely  perceptible  tremor  shaking  his  limbs. 

Then  a  sound  new  and  strange  came  to  Danny. 
He  did  not  know  its  origin,  but  it  contained  a 
quality  that  sent  a  thrill  pulsing  from  his  heart. 
Shrill  it  was,  but  not  sharply  cut,  wavering  but 
not  breaking;  alarm,  warning,  concern,  caution  — 
the  whistle  of  a  stallion!  Then  silence,  while  the 
mares  stood  rigid  and  the  saddle  horse  held  his 
breath. 


AMBITION   IS   BORN  83 

Again  it  came,  and  a  quick  chill  struck  down 
Danny's  spine.  His  searching  eyes  encountered 
the  source.  There,  halfway  between  the  mares 
and  the  crown  of  the  ridge  he  stood,  out  on  a 
little  rim-rock  that  made  a  fitting  pedestal,  alert, 
defiant,  feet  firmly  planted,  with  the  poise  of  a 
proud  monarch. 

Even  across  the  distance  his  coat  showed  the 
glossiness  seen  only  on  fine,  short  hair;  his  chest, 
turned  halfway  toward  the  rider,  was  splendid  in 
breadth  and  depth,  indicating  superb  strength, 
endurance,  high  courage.  Danny  looked  with  a 
surge  of  appreciation  at  the  arch  of  the  neck, 
regal  in  its  slim  strength,  at  the  fine,  straight 
limbs,  clean  as  a  dancing  girl's;  at  the  long, 
lithe  barrel  with  its  fine  symmetry. 

A  wandering  breath  of  breeze  came  up  the 
gulch,  fluttering  the  wealth  of  tail,  lifting  the 
heavy  mane  and  forelock.  The  horse  raised  a 
front  foot  and  smote  the  ledge  on  which  he  stood 
as  though  wrath  rose  that  a  mere  man  should 
ride  into  his  presence,  and  he  would  demand 
departure  or  homage  from  Danny  Lenox.  He 
shook  his  noble  head  impatiently,  to  clear  his 
eyes  of  the  hair  that  blew  about  them.  And 
once  more  came  the  whistle. 

The  mares  stirred.  One,  a  bright  buckskin, 
trotted  up  the  rise  a  dozen  yards,  and  stopped 
to  turn  and  look.  The  others  moved  slowly, 
eyes  and  ears  for  Danny. 

Again  the  whistle;  a  clatter  of  loosened  stones 


84  -I   CONQUERED" 

as  the  black  leader  bounded  up  the  hillside;  and 
the  bunch  was  away  in  his  wake. 

"The  Captain!"  Danny  breathed,  and  then, 
in  a  cry  which  echoed  down  the  gulch  -  ' '  The 
Captain!" 

He  was  scarcely  conscious  of  his  movements, 
but  his  quirt  fell,  his  spurs  raked  the  sides  of  his 
pony,  and  the  sturdy  little  animal,  young  and 
not  yet  fully  developed,  doing  his  best  in  making 
up  the  ridge,  labored  effectively,  perhaps  drawn 
on  by  that  same  raw  desire  which  went  straight 
to  the  roots  of  Danny's  spirit  and  came  back  to 
set  the  fires  glowing  in  his  eyes. 

The  boy  rode  far  forward  in  his  saddle,  his  gaze 
on  the  plunging  band  that  scattered  stones  and 
dirt  as  they  strove  for  the  top.  But  he  was 
many  lengths  behind  when  the  last  mare  disap 
peared  over  the  rim.  He  fanned  his  pony  again, 
and  the  beast  grunted  in  his  struggles  for  in 
creased  speed  in  the  climbing,  lunging  forward 
with  mighty  efforts  which  netted  so  little  ground. 

As  he  toiled  up  the  last  yards  Danny  saw  the 
Captain  again,  standing  there  against  the  sky, 
watching,  waiting,  mane  and  tail  blowing  about 
him.  His  strong,  full,  ever  delicate  body  quivered 
with  the  singing  spirit  of  confidence  within  him 
and  communicated  itself  to  the  weakling  pursuer. 
Just  a  glimpse  of  the  man  was  all  that  the  black 
horse  wanted,  then  —  he  was  off. 

As  Danny's  horse  caught  the  first  stride  in  the 
run  down  the  ridge  he  saw  the  Captain  stretch 


AMBITION  IS  BORN  85 

that  fine  nose  out  to  the  flank  of  a  lagging  mare, 
and  saw  the  animal  throw  her  head  about  in 
pain  as  the  strong  teeth  nipped  her  flesh,  com 
manding  more  speed. 

Danny  Lenox  was  mad !  He  pulled  off  his  hat 
and  beat  his  pony's  withers  with  it.  He  cried  aloud 
the  Captain's  name.  He  went  on  and  on,  dropping 
far  down  on  his  horse's  side  as  they  brushed  under 
the  cedars,  settling  firmly  to  the  seat  when  the 
animal  leaped  over  rocks.  His  shirt  was  open  at 
the  neck,  and  his  throat  was  chilled  with  the  swift 
rush  of  air,  while  hot  blood  swirled  close  to  the 
skin.  His  eyes  glowed  with  the  fire  set  there  by 
this  new  fascination,  the  love  of  beautiful  strength ; 
and  through  his  body  sang  the  will  to  conquer ! 

It  was  an  unfair  race.  Danny  and  his  light 
young  horse  had  no  chance.  Off  and  away  drew 
the  stallion  and  his  bunch,  without  effort  after  that 
first  crazy  break  down  the  ridge.  The  last  Danny 
saw  of  him  was  with  head  turned  backward,  nose 
lifted,  as  though  he  breathed  disdainful  defiance 
at  the  man  who  would  come  in  his  wake  with  the 
thirst  for  possession  high  within  him! 

And  so  the  boy  pulled  up,  dropped  off,  and  let 
his  breathing  pony  rest.  His  legs  were  uncertain 
under  him,  and  he  knew  that  his  pulses  raced. 
For  many  minutes  he  strove  to  analyze  his  emo 
tion  but  could  not. 

Jed  slid  off  the  next  ridge  and  came  up  at  a 
trot.  His  face  was  radiant.  "Well,  he  got  you, 
did  n't  he?"  He  laughed  aloud. 


86  "_I   CONQUERED" 

"I  thought  he  would,  all  along;  and  I  knowed  he 
had  you  when  I  see  you  break  up  over  th'  ridge. 
You  've  got  th'  fever  now,  like  a  lot  of  th'  rest  of 
us !  Mebby  you  '11  chase  horses  here  for  years,  but 
you  '11  always  have  an  eye  out  for  just  one  thing  — 
th'  Captain.  You  won't  be  satisfied  until  you've 
got  him  —  like  all  of  us;  not  satisfied  until  we've 
done  th'  biggest  thing  there  is  in  sight  to  do." 

Then,  as  though  parenthetically:  "An'  when 
we've  done  that  we've  only  h'isted  ourselves  up 
to  where  we  can  see  that  they's  a  hunderd  times 
as  much  to  do." 

"Gad,  but  he  goes  right  into  a  fellow's  heart!" 
breathed  Danny,  looking  into  the  sunset.  "I 
did  n't  know  I  was  following  him,  Jed,  until  the 
pony  here  commenced  to  tire." 

He  laughed  apologetically,  as  though  confessing 
a  foolishness,  but  his  face  was  glowing  with  a  new 
light.  A  fresh  incentive  had  come  to  him  with 
this  awakening  admiration,  inciting  him  to 
emulation.  The  spirit  of  the  stallion  stirred  in 
him  again  that  vibrant  chord  which  had  been 
urging  him  to  fight  on,  not  to  give  up. 

His  ambition  to  overcome  his  weakness  began 
to  take  quick,  definite  direction.  Added  to  the 
effort  of  overcoming  his  vices  would  henceforth 
be  the  endeavor  to  achieve,  to  compass  some 
worthy  object.  This  was  his  aim:  to  be  a  leader 
to  whom  men  would  turn  for  inspiration;  to  be 
unconquerable  among  men,  as  the  Captain  was 
unconquerable  among  his  kind. 


AMBITION   IS  BORN  &, 

As  the  ideal  took  shape,  springing  full-born 
from  his  excitement,  Danny  Lenox  felt  lifted 
above  himself,  felt  stronger  than  human  strength, 
felt  as  though  he  were  forever  beyond  human 
weaknesses. 

When  they  had  ridden  twenty  minutes  in 
silence  Jed  broke  out:  "Sonny,  I  don't  want 
to  act  like  'n  old  woman,  but  I  guess  I'm  gettin' 
childish!  I've  knowed  you  less  than  a  month. 
I  don't  even  know  who  you  was  when  you  come. 
We  don't  ask  men  about  theirselves  when  they 
come  in  here.  What  a  feller  wants  to  tell,  we 
take ;  what  he  keeps  to  hisself  we  wonder  at  with 
out  mentionin'  it. 

"But  you,  sonny  —  you  couldn't  keep  it 
from  me.  I  know  what  it  is,  I  know.  I  seen 
it  when  you  got  off  th'  train  at  Colt  —  seen 
that  somethin'  had  got  you  down.  I  knowed 
for  sure  what  it  was  when  you  stopped  by  th' 
saloon  there.  I  knowed  how  honest  you  was 
with  yourself  in  that  little  meetin'  with  Rhues. 
I  know  all  about  it  —  'cause  I  've  been  through 
th'  same  thing  —  alone,  an'  years  ago." 

After  a  pause  he  went  on:  "An'  just  now, 
when  I  seen  you  comin'  down  that  ridge  after 
th'  Captain,  I  knowed  th'  right  stuff  was  in  you  — 
because  when  a  thing  like  that  horse  touches  a 
man  off  it's  a  sign  he's  th'  right  kind,  th'  kind 
that  wants  to  do  things  for  th'  sake  of  knowin' 
his  own  strength.  You've  got  th'  stuff  in  you 
to  be  a  man,  but  you're  fightin'  an  awful  fight. 


88  "_I   CONQUERED" 

You  need  help;  you  ought  to  have  friends  —  you 
ought  to  have  a  daddy!" 

He  gulped,  and  for  a  dozen  strides  there  were 
no  more  words. 

"I  feel  like  adoptin'  you,  sonny,  'cause  I  know. 
I  feel  like  makin'  you  a  part  of  this  here  outfit, 
which  ain't  never  branded  a  colt  that  did  n't 
belong  to  it,  which  ain't  never  done  nothin' 
but  go  straight  ahead  an'  be  honest  with  itself, 
good  times  an'  bad. 

"I  used  to  be  proud  when  they  called  me  Old 
VB,  'cause  they  all  knowed  th'  brand  was  on  th' 
level,  an'  when  they,  as  you  might  say,  put  it 
on  me,  I  felt  like  I  was  wearin'  some  sort  of 
medal.  I  feel  just  like  makin'  you  part  of  th' 
VB  —  Young  VB  -  -  'cause  I  can  help  you  here 
an'  —  an'  'fore  God  A 'mighty  you  need  help, 
man  that  you  are!" 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  when  the  last  dish 
had  been  wiped,  when  the  dishpan  had  been  hung 
away,  Danny  spoke  the  next  words.  He  walked 
close  to  the  old  man,  his  face  quiet  under  the 
new  consciousness  of  how  far  he  must  go  to 
approach  this  new  ideal.  He  took  the  hard  old 
hand  in  his  own,  covered  its  back  with  the  other, 
and  muttered  in  a  voice  that  was  far  from  clear: 
"Goodnight,  Old  VB." 

And  the  other,  to  cover  the  tenderness  in  his 
tone,  snapped  back:  "Get  to  bed,  Young  VB; 
they's  that  ahead  of  you  to-morrow  which '11 
take  every  bit  of  your  courage  and  strength!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

WITH  HOOF  AND  TOOTH 

SO  IT  came  to  pass  that  Danny  Lenox  of  New 
York  ceased  to  exist,  and  a  new  man  took 
his  place  —  Young  VB,  of  Clear  River  County, 
Colorado. 

"Who's  your  new  hand?"  a  passing  rider  asked 
Jed  one  morning,  watching  with  interest  as  the 
stranger  practiced  with  a  rope  in  the  corral. 

"Well,  sir,  he's  th'  ridin'est  tenderfoot  you 
ever  see!"  Jed  boasted.  "I  picked  him  up  out 
at  Colt  an'  put  him  to  work  —  after  Charley 
went  away." 

' '  Where  'd  he  come  from  ?  What 's  his  name  ? ' ' 
the  other  insisted. 

"From  all  appearances,  he  ain't  of  these  parts," 
replied  Jed,  squinting  at  a  distant  peak.  "An' 
around  here  we've  got  to  callin'  him  Young 
VB." 

The  rider,  going  south,  told  a  man  he  met 
that  Jed  had  bestowed  his  brand  on  a  human  of 
another  generation.  Later,  he  told  it  in  Ranger. 
The  man  he  met  on  the  road  told  it  on  Sand  Creek ; 
those  who  heard  it  in  Ranger  bore  it  off  into  the 
hills,  for  even  such  a  small  bit  of  news  is  a  meaty 
morsel  for  those  who  sit  in  the  same  small  com 
pany  about  bunk-house  stoves  months  on  end. 


9o  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  boy  became  known  by  name  about  the  coun 
try,  and  those  who  met  him  told  others  what  the 
stranger  was  like.  Men  were  attracted  by  his 
simplicity,  his  desire  to  learn,  by  his  frank  im 
pulse  to  be  himself  yet  of  them. 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  th'  feller,"  they  would  recall, 
and  then  recite  with  the  variations  that  travel 
gives  to  tales  the  incident  that  transpired  in  the 
Anchor  bunk  house. 

Young  VB  fitted  smoothly  into  the  work  of 
the  ranch.  He  learned  to  ride,  to  rope,  to  shoot, 
to  cook,  and  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the  range; 
he  learned  the  country,  cultivated  the  instinct 
of  directions.  And,  above  all,  he  learned  to 
love  more  than  ever  the  little  old  man  who 
fathered  and  tutored  him. 

And  Young  VB  became  truly  useful.  It  was 
not  all  smooth  progress.  At  times  —  and  they 
were  not  infrequent  —  the  thirst  came  on  him 
with  vicious  force,  as  though  it  would  tear  his 
will  out  by  the  roots. 

The  fever  which  that  first  run  after  the  Cap 
tain  aroused,  and  which  made  him  stronger  than 
doubtings,  could  not  endure  without  faltering. 
The  ideal  was  ever  there,  but  at  times  so  elusive! 
Then  the  temptings  came,  and  he  had  to  fight 
silently,  doggedly. 

Some  of  these  attacks  left  him  shaking  in  spite 
of  his  mending  nerves  —  left  him  white  in  spite 
of  the  brown  that  sun  and  wind  put  on  him. 
During  the  daytime  it  was  bad  enough,  but 


WITH   HOOF  AND  TOOTH  91 

when  he  woke  in  the  night,  sleep  broken  sharply, 
and  raised  unsteady  hands  to  his  begging  throat, 
there  was  not  the  assuring  word  from  Jed,  or 
the  comfort  of  his  companionship. 

The  old  man  took  a  lasting  pride  in  Danny's 
adaptability.  His  comments  were  few  indeed, 
but  when  the  boy  came  in  after  a  day  of  hard, 
rough,  effective  toil,  having  done  all  that  a  son 
of  the  hills  could  be  expected  to  do,  the  little 
man  whistled  and  sang  as  though  the  greatest 
good  fortune  in  the  world  had  come  to  him. 

One  morning  Jed  went  to  the  corral  to  find  VB 
snubbing  up  an  unbroken  sorrel  horse  they  had 
brought  in  the  day  before.  He  watched  from 
a  distance,  while  the  young  man,  after  many 
trials,  got  a  saddle  on  the  animal's  back. 

"Think  you  can?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  twinkling, 
as  he  crawled  up  on  the  aspen  poles  to  watch. 

"I  don't  know,  Jed,  but  it's  time  I  found  out!" 
was  the  answer,  and  in  it  was  a  click  of  steely 
determination. 

It  was  not  a  nice  ride,  not  even  for  the  short 
time  it  lasted.  Young  VB  "went  and  got  it" 
early  in  the  melee.  He  clung  desperately  to  the 
saddle  horn  with  one  hand,  but  with  the  other 
he  plied  his  quirt  and  between  every  plunge  his 
spurs  raked  the  sides  of  the  bucking  beast. 

He  did  not  know  the  art  of  such  riding,  but 
the  courage  was  there  and  when  he  was  thrown 
it  was  only  at  the  moment  when  the  sorrel  put 
into  the  battle  his  best. 


92  "__I  CONQUERED" 

VB  got  to  his  feet  and  wiped  the  dust  from  his 
eyes. 

"Hurt?"  asked  Jed. 

"Nothing  but  my  pride,"  muttered  the  boy. 
He  grasped  the  saddle  again,  got  one  foot  in  the 
stirrup,  and,  after  being  dragged  around  the 
inclosure,  got  to  the  seat. 

Again  he  was  thrown,  and  when  he  arose  and 
made  for  the  horse  a  third  time  Jed  slipped  down 
from  the  fence  to  intervene. 

"Not  again  to-day,"  he  said,  with  a  pride  that 
he  could  not  suppress.  "Take  it  easy;  try  him 
again  to-morrow." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  give  up!"  protested  the 
boy.  "I  can  ride  that  horse." 

"You  ain't  givin'  up;  I  made  you,"  the  other 
smiled.  "You  ought  to  have  been  born  in  the 
hills.  You'd  have  made  a  fine  bronc  twister. 
Ain't  it  a  shame  th'  way  men  are  wasted  just  by 
bein'  born  out  of  place?" 

VB  seemed  not  to  hear.  He  rubbed  the  nose 
of  the  frantic  horse  a  moment,  then  said: 

"  If  I  could  get  this  near  the  Captain  —  Jed, 
if  I  could  ever  get  a  leg  over  that  stallion  he'd 
be  mine  or  I'd  die  trying!" 

"Still  thinkin'  of  him?" 

"All  the  time!  I  never  forget  him.  That 
fellow  has  got  into  my  blood.  He's  the  biggest 
thing  in  this  country  —  the  strongest  —  and  I 
want  to  show  him  that  there's  something  a  little 
stronger,  something  that  can  break  the  power 


WITH   HOOF  AND   TOOTH  93 

he 's  held  so  long  —  and  that  I  am  that  some 
thing!" 

"That's  considerable  ambition,"  Jed  said, 
casually,  though  he  wanted  to  hug  the  boy. 

"I  know  it.  Most  people  out  here  would  think 
me  a  fool  if  they  heard  me  talk  this  way.  Me, 
a  greenhorn,  a  tenderfoot,  talking  crazily  about 
doing  what  not  one  of  you  has  ever  been  able 
to  do!" 

"Not  exactly,  VB.  It's  th'  wantin'  to  do 
things  bad  enough  that  makes  men  do  'em, 
remember.  This  feller  busted  you  twice,  but 
you've  got  th'  stuff  under  your  belt  that  makes 
horses  behave.  That's  th'  only  stuff  that'll 
ever  make  th'  Captain  anything  but  th'  wild 
thing  he  is  now.  Sand!  Grit!  Th'  wantin'  to 
do  it!" 

A  cautious  whistle  from  Jed  that  afternoon 
called  VB  into  a  thicket  of  low  trees,  from  where 
he  looked  down  on  a  scene  that  drove  home 
even  more  forcibly  the  knowledge  of  the  strength 
of  spirit  that  was  incased  in  the  glossy  coat  of 
the  great  stallion. 

"Look!"   the  old  man  said  in  a  low  voice, 
pointing  into  the  gulch.     "  It 's  a  Percheron  — 
one  of  Thorpe's  stallions.     He's  come  into  th' 
Captain's  band  an'  they're  goin'  to  fight!" 

VB  looked  down  on  the  huge  gray  horse, 
heavier  by  three  hundred  pounds  than  the  black, 
stepping  proudly  along  over  the  rough  gulch 
bottom,  tossing  his  head,  twisting  it  about  on 


94  -I   CONQUERED" 

his  neck,  his  ears  fiat,  his  tail  switching  savagely. 

Up  the  far  rise  huddled  the  mares.  The  Cap 
tain  was  driving  the  last  of  them  into  the  bunch 
as  VB  came  in  sight.  That  done,  he  turned  to 
watch  the  coming  of  the  gray. 

Through  the  stillness  the  low,  malicious,  muf 
fled  crying  of  the  Percheron  came  to  them  clearly 
as  he  pranced  slowly  along,  parading  his  graces 
for  the  mares  up  there,  displaying  his  strength 
to  their  master,  who  must  come  down  and  battle 
for  his  sovereignty. 

The  Captain  stood  and  watched  as  though 
mildly  curious,  standing  close  to  his  mares.  His 
tail  moved  slowly,  easily,  from  side  to  side.  His 
ears,  which  had  been  stiffly  set  forward  at  first, 
slowly  dropped  back. 

The  gray  drew  nearer,  to  within  fifty  yards, 
forty,  thirty.  He  paused,  pawed  the  ground, 
and  sent  a  great  puff  of  dust  out  behind  him. 

Then  he  swung  to  the  left  and  struck  up  the 
incline,  headed  directly  for  the  Captain,  striding 
forward  to  humble  him  under  the  very  noses  of 
his  mares  —  the  band  that  would  be  the  prize 
of  that  coming  conflict! 

He  stopped  again  and  pawed  spitefully.  He 
rose  on  his  hind  legs  slowly,  head  shaking,  fore 
feet  waving  in  the  air,  as  though  flexing  his 
muscles  before  putting  them  to  the  strain  of 
combat. 

He  settled  to  the  ground  barely  in  time,  for 
with  a  scream  of  rage  the  black  horse  hurtled. 


WITH   HOOF  AND  TOOTH  95 

He  seemed  to  be  under  full  speed  at  the  first 
leap,  and  the  speed  was  terrific! 

Foam  had  gathered  on  his  lips,  and  the  rush 
down  the  pitch  flung  it  spattering  against  his 
glossy  chest.  His  shrilling  did  not  cease  from 
the  time  he  left  his  tracks  until,  with  front  hoofs 
raised,  a  catapult  of  living,  quivering  hate,  he 
hurled  himself  at  the  gray.  It  ended  then  in 
a  wail  of  frenzy  —  not  of  fear,  but  of  royal  rage 
at  the  thought  of  any  creature  offering  challenge! 

The  gray  dropped  back  to  all  fours,  whirled 
sharply,  and  took  the  impact  at  a  glancing  blow, 
a  hip  cringing  low  as  the  ragged  hoofs  of  the  black 
crashed  upon  it.  The  Captain  stuck  his  feet 
stiffly  into  the  ground,  plowing  great  ruts  in  the 
earth  in  his  efforts  to  stop  and  turn  and  meet 
the  rush  of  the  other,  as  he  recovered  from  the 
first  shock,  gathered  headway,  and  bore  down 
on  him.  He  overcame  his  momentum,  turning 
as  he  came  to  a  stop,  lifted  his  voice  again,  and 
rose  high  to  meet  hoof  for  hoof  the  ponderous 
attack  that  the  bigger  animal  turned  on  him. 

The  men  above  heard  the  crash  of  their  meeting. 
The  impact  of  flesh  against  flesh  was  terrific. 
For  the  catch  of  an  instant  the  horses  seemed 
to  poise,  the  Captain  holding  against  the  fury 
that  had  come  upon  him,  holding  even  against 
the  odds  of  lightness  and  up-hill  fighting.  Then 
they  swayed  to  one  side,  and  VB  uttered  a  low 
cry  of  joy  as  the  Captain's  teeth  buried  them 
selves  in  the  back  of  the  Percheron's  neck. 


96  "__I   CONQUERED" 

Close  together  then  they  fought,  throwing 
dirt  and  stones,  ripping  up  the  brush  as  their 
rumbling  feet  found  fresh  hold  and  then  tore 
away  the  earth  under  the  might  that  was  brought 
to  bear  in  the  assault  and  resistance.  A  dozen 
times  they  rushed  upon  each  other,  a  dozen 
times  they  parted  and  raised  for  fresh  attack. 
And  each  time  the  gray  body  and  the  black 
•met  in  smacking  crash  it  was  the  former  that 
gave  way,  notwithstanding  his  superior  weight. 

"Look  at  him!"  whispered  Jed.  "Look  at 
that  cuss!  He  hates  that  gray  so  that  he's  got 
th'  fear  of  death  in  him!  Look  at  them  ears! 
Hear  him  holler!  He's  too  quick.  Too  quick, 
an'  he's  got  th'  spirit  that  makes  up  th'  difference 
in  weight  —  an'  more,  too!" 

He  stopped  with  a  gasp  as  the  Captain,  catch 
ing  the  other  off  balance,  smote  him  on  the  ribs 
with  his  hoofs  until  the  blows  sounded  like  the 
rumble  of  a  drum.  The  challenger  threw  up  his 
head  in  agony  and  cringed  beneath  the  torment, 
running  side  wise  with  bungling  feet. 

"He  like  to  broke  his  back!"  cried  Jed. 

"And  look  at  him  bite!"  whispered  VB. 

The  Captain  tore  at  the  shoulders  and  neck 
of  the  gray  horse  with  his  gleaming,  malevolent 
teeth.  Again  and  again  they  found  fleshhold, 
and  his  neck  bowed  with  the  strength  he  put 
into  the  wrenching,  while  his  feet  kept  up  their 
terrific  hammering. 

No  pride  of  challenge   in  the   gray   now;   no 


WITH  HOOF  AND  TOOTH  97 

display  of  graces  for  the  onlooking  mares;  no 
attacking;  just  impotent  resistance,  as  the 
Captain  drove  him  on  and  on  down  the  gulch, 
humbled,  terrified,  routed. 

The  sounds  of  conflict  became  fainter  as  the 
Percheron  strove  to  make  his  escape  and  the 
Captain  relentlessly  followed  him,  the  desire  to 
kill  crying  from  his  every  line. 

The  battling  beasts  rounded  a  point  of  rocks, 
and  the  two  men  sprang  to  their  horses  to  follow 
the  moving  fight.  But  they  were  no  more  than 
mounted  when  the  Captain  came  back,  swinging 
along  in  his  wonderful  trot,  ears  still  flat,  head 
still  shaking,  anger  possessing  him  —  anger  and 
pride. 

He  was  unmarked  by  the  conflict,  save  with 
sweat  and  dust  and  foam;  he  was  still  possessed 
of  his  superb  strength.  He  went  up  the  pitch 
to  his  band  with  all  the  vigor  of  stride  he  had 
displayed  in  flying  from  it  to  answer  the  presump 
tion  of  the  gray.  And  the  mares,  watching  him, 
seemed  to  draw  long  breaths,  dropped  their 
heads  to  the  bunch  grass,  and,  one  by  one,  moved 
along  in  their  grazing. 

Jed  looked  at  VB.  What  he  saw  in  the  boy's 
face  made  him  nod  his  head  slowly  in  affirmation. 

"You're  that  sort,  too,"  he  whispered  exult- 
ingly.  "You're  that  sort!  His  kind!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  HEAD  OF  YELLOW  HAIR 

HP  HE  next  day  Jed  declared  for  a  trip  to  Ranger 
•*•  after  grub.  The  trip  was  necessary,  and  it 
would  be  an  education  for  VB,  he  said  with  a 
chuckle,  to  see  the  town.  But  when  they  were 
ready  to  start  a  rider  approached  the  ranch. 

"If  it  ain't  Kelly!"  Jed  cried.  Then,  in  expla 
nation:  "He's  a  horse  buyer,  an'  must  be  comin' 
to  see  me." 

And  the  man's  desire  to  look  over  the  VB  stuff 
was  so  strong  that  Jed  declared  it  would  be  busi 
ness  for  him  to  stay  at  home. 

In  a  way,  Danny  was  glad  of  the  opportunity 
to  go  alone.  It  fed  the  glowing  pride  in  his 
ability  to  do  things,  to  be  of  use,  and  after  a  short 
interchange  of  drolleries  with  the  man  Kelly, 
whom  he  instinctively  liked,  the  boy  mounted 
to  the  high  wagon  seat  and  drove  off  down  the 
gulch. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  and  hours  alone  are  con 
ducive  to  thought.  Danny's  mind  went  back 
over  the  days  that  had  passed,  wandering  along 
those  paths  he  had  followed  since  that  July 
morning  in  the  luxuriously  dim  house  on  River 
side  Drive.  And  the  reason  for  his  departing 
from  the  old  way  came  back  to  him  now,  because 

98 


A  HEAD  OF  YELLOW  HAIR  99 

he  was  alone,  with  nothing  to  divert  his  attention. 
The  old  turbulence  arose;  it  wore  and  wore  with 
the  miles,  eating  down  to  his  will,  teasing,  coax 
ing,  threatening,  pleading,  fuming. 

"Will  it  always  be  so?"  he  asked  the  distances. 
"When  it  comes  to  challenge  me,  to  take  away 
all  that  I  hold  dear,  shall  I  always  be  afraid? 
Shan't  I  be  able  to  stand  and  fight  and  triumph, 
merely  raging  because  it  dares  tempt  me  instead 
of  fearing  this  thing  itself?" 

And  he  spoke  as  he  thought  in  terms  of  his 
ideal,  as  materialized  in  the  Captain. 

"But  will  it  always  be  so  with  him?"  he  asked 
again.  "Won't  some  horse  come  to  challenge 
him  some  day  and  batter  him  down  and  make 
defeat  all  the  more  bitter  because  of  the  suprem 
acy  he  has  enjoyed?  Would  it  then  be  —  worth 
the  candle?" 

And  as  he  bowed  his  head  he  thought  once  more 
of  the  beacon  in  the  bottle,  corking  it  up,  driving 
back  the  shadows,  making  a  livable  place  in  the 
darkness. 

Nothing  is  ever  intrinsically  curious.  Curi- 
ousness  comes  solely  from  relationships.  Time 
and  place  are  the  great  factors  in  creating  oddi 
ties.  Five  miles  farther  on  VB  saw  a  curious 
thing.  This  was  at  the  forks  of  the  road.  To  his 
right  it  went  off  behind  the  long,  rocky  point 
toward  Sand  Creek;  to  the  left  it  wandered 
through  the  sage  brush  over  toward  the  S  Bar  S 


ioo  "_I  CONQUERED" 

Ranch,  and  ahead  it  ran  straight  on  to  Ranger. 

Along  the  prong  that  twisted  to  the  left  went 
an  automobile.  Nothing  curious  about  that  to 
VB,  for  many  times  he  had  seen  Bob  Thorpe 
driving  his  car  through  the  country. 

But  at  the  wheel  was  a  lone  figure  crowned  by 
a  mass  of  yellow  hair.  That  was  the  curious 
thing  he  saw! 

All  VB  could  distinguish  at  that  distance  with 
his  hot  eyes  was  yellow  hair.  The  machine 
picked  its  way  carefully  along  the  primitive  road, 
checking  down  here,  shooting  ahead  there,  going 
on  toward  the  horizon,  bearing  the  yellow 
hair  away  from  him,  until  it  was  only  a  crawling 
thing  with  a  long,  floating  tail  of  dust.  But 
it  seemed  to  him  he  could  still  make  out  that 
bright  fleck  even  after  the  automobile  had  become 
indistinguishable. 

"She's  alone,"  muttered  VB.  "She's  driving 
that  car  alone  —  and  out  here!" 

Then  he  wondered  with  a  laugh  why  he  should 
think  it  so  strange.  Many  times  he  had  ridden 
down  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  afternoon  traffic 
congestion  beside  a  woman  who  piloted  her  own 
car.  Surely  the  few  hazards  of  this  thorough 
fare  were  not  to  be  compared  with  that! 

But  it  was  the  incongruity  which  his  associa 
tion  of  ideas  brought  up  that  made  him  tingle 
a  little.  That  hair!  It  did  not  belong  out  here. 
He  had  not  been  near  enough  to  see  the  girl's 
face  —  he  was  sure  it  was  a  girl,  not  a  grown 


CALIFORNIA  WESTERN  UNIVERSITY 
RYAN  LIBRARY 


A  HEAD  OF  YELLOW  HAIR  101 

woman  —  but  the  color  of  her  crowning  adorn 
ment  suggested  many  and  definite  things.  And 
those  things  were  not  of  these  waste  places ;  were 
not  rough  and  primal.  They  were  finer,  higher. 

Once  before  he  had  experienced  this  nameless, 
pleasurable  sensation  of  being  familiar  with  the 
unknown.  That  had  been  when  Jed  had  sketched 
with  a  dozen  unrelated  words  a  picture  of  the 
daughter  of  the  house  of  Thorpe. 

The  motor  car  with  its  fair-haired  pilot  had 
been  gone  an  hour  when  Danny,  watching  a 
coyote  skulk  among  distant  rocks,  said  aloud: 
' '  East  —  college  —  I  '11  bet  —  I  —  I  wonder  —  " 

Dusk  had  come  wrhen  Young  VB  entered 
Ranger  and  put  up  at  the  ranch,  which  made  as 
much  pretense  of  buildings  as  did  the  town  itself. 
Morning  found  him  weak  and  drawn,  as  it  alw-ays 
did  after  a  night  of  the  conflict,  yet  he  was  up 
with  the  sun,  eager  to  be  through  with  his  task 
and  back  with  Jed. 

Purchasing  supplies  is  something  of  a  rite  in 
Ranger,  and  under  other  conditions,  on  another 
day  perhaps,  it  might  have  amused  VB ;  but  with 
the  unrest  within  him  he  found  little  about  the 
procedure  that  did  not  irritate. 

In  the  store  there  one  may  buy  everything  in 
hardware  from  safety  pins  to  trace  chains;  gro 
ceries  range  from  canned  soup  to  wormy  nuts; 
in  drugs  anything,  bounded  on  one  end  by  horse 
liniment  and  on  the  other  extreme  by  eye-drops 
guaranteed  to  prevent  cataracts,  is  for  sale;  and 


io2  "_I   CONQUERED" 

overalls  and  sewing  silk  are  alike  popular  com 
modities.  All  is  in  fine  order,  and  the  manager 
is  a  walking  catalogue  of  household  necessities. 

VB  was  relieved  when  the  buying  had  been 
accomplished.  He  crowded  a  can  of  ten-cent 
tobacco  into  the  pocket  of  his  new  overalls  and 
started  for  the  team.  A  dozen  strides  away  from 
the  store  building  he  paused  to  look  about.  It 
was  his  first  inspection  of  Ranger  in  daylight, 
and  now  as  he  surveyed  its  extent  his  sense  of 
humor  rose  above  the  storm  within  him,  and 
he  grinned. 

The  store,  with  its  conventional  false  front, 
stood  beside  the  post  office,  which  was  built  as 
a  lean-to.  Next  to  it  was  a  building  of  red  corru 
gated  iron,  and  sounds  of  blacksmithing  issued 
from  it.  Behind  VB  was  a  tiny  house,  with  a 
path  running  from  it  to  the  store,  the  home  of 
the  manager.  Next  it  a  log  cabin.  Down  at 
the  left,  near  the  river,  was  another  house, 
deserted,  the  ranch  where  he  had  stayed,  and 
beyond  it  a  trio  of  small  shacks  on  the  river  bank. 

"Ranger,"   he  muttered,   and  chuckled. 

The  road,  brown  and  soft  with  fine  dust, 
stretched  on  and  on  toward  Utah,  off  to  the  west 
where  silence  was  supreme. 

The  buildings  were  all  on  the  north  side  of  the 
road. 

"A  south  front  was  the  idea,  I  suppose,"  VB 
murmured.  "Mere  matter  of — " 

His  gaze  had  traveled  across  the  road  to  a 


A  HEAD   OF  YELLOW  HAIR  103 

lone  building  erected  there,  far  back  against  a 
sharp  rise  of  ground.  It  stood  apart,  as  though 
consciously  aloof  from  the  rest,  a  one-story  struc 
ture,  and  across  its  front  a  huge  white  sign,  on 
which  in  black  characters  was  painted  the  word: 


SALOON 


Unconsciously  his  tongue  came  out  to  wet  the 
parched  lips  and  his  fingers  plucked  at  the  seams 
of  the  new  overalls. 

Why  not?  the  insidious  self  argued,  why  not? 
All  changes  must  come  gradually.  Nothing  can 
be  accomplished  in  a  moment.  Just  one  drink 
to  cool  his  throat,  to  steady  his  nerves,  and  brace 
him  for  the  fight  he  would  make  —  later. 

As  he  stood  there  listening  to  that  inner  voice, 
yet  holding  it  off,  he  did  not  hear  the  fall  of  hoofs 
behind  him  or  the  jingle  of  spurs  as  a  rider  dis 
mounted  and  approached. 

But  he  did  hear  the  voice  —  drawling,  nasty, 
jeering : 

"Was  you  considerin'  havin'  a  bit  o'  refresh 
ment,  stranger?" 

VB  wheeled  quickly  and  looked  straight  into 
the  gieen  glitter  of  Rhues's  red-lidded  eyes. 
The  cruel  mouth  was  stretched  in  an  angular 
grin,  and  the  whole  countenance  expressed  the 
incarnate  spirit  of  the  bully. 


io4  "—I  CONQUERED" 

Into  Danny's  mind  leaped  the  idea  that  this 
thing  before  him,  this  evil-eyed,  jeering,  leering, 
daring  being,  typified  all  that  was  foul  in  his 
heart  —  just  as  the  Captain  typified  all  that  was 
virtuous. 

The  intuitive  repulsion  surged  to  militant  hate. 
He  wanted  to  smother  the  breath  which  kept 
alive  such  a  spirit,  wanted  to  stamp  into  the  dust 
the  body  that  housed  it  —  because  it  mocked 
him  and  tempted  him!  But  Young  VB  only 
turned  and  brushed  past  the  man  without  a  word. 

He  heard  Rhues's  laughter  behind  him,  and 
heard  him  call :  ' '  Ranger  ain't  no  eastern  Sunday 
school.  Better  have  one  an'  be  a  man,  like  th' 
rest  o'  th'  boys!" 

However,  when  Rhues  turned  back  to  his 
pony  the  laugh  was  gone  and  he  was  puzzling 
over  something.  After  he  had  mounted,  he 
looked  after  the  boy  again  maliciously. 

VB  was  on  the  road  in  half  an  hour,  driving 
the  horses  as  fast  as  he  dared.  He  wanted  to  be 
back  in  Jed's  cabin,  away  from  Ranger.  This 
thing  had  followed  him  across  the  country  to 
Colt;  from  Colt  to  the  Anchor;  and  now  It  lurked 
for  him  in  Ranger.  The  ranch  was  his  haven. 

The  settlement  by  the  river  reached  its  claws 
after  him  as  he  drove,  fastening  them  in  his 
throat  and  shaking  his  will  until  it  seemed  as 
though  it  had  reached  the  limit  of  its  endurance. 

It  was  dark  when  he  reached  home.  A  mile 
away  he  had  seen  the  light  and  smiled  weakly 


A  HEAD   OF  YELLOW  HAIR  105 

at  thought  of  it,  and  the  horses,  more  than  willing, 
carried  the  wagon  over  the  remaining  distance 
with  a  bouncing  that  threatened  its  contents. 

When  VB  pulled  up  before  the  outer  gate  Jed 
hurried  from  the  cabin. 

"VB,"  he  called,  "are  you  all  right?" 

"All  right,  Jed,"  he  answered,  dropping  from 
the  seat. 

And  the  boy  thought  he  heard  the  older  man 
thank  his  God. 

Without  words,  they  unharnessed  and  went 
to  the  cabin.  Kelly  was  sleeping  loudly  in  the 
adjoining  room.  The  table  had  been  moved 
from  its  usual  place  nearer  to  the  window,  and 
the  bottle  with  its  burning  candle  was  close  against 
the  pane.  Jed  looked  at  the  candle,  than  at  VB. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  seeing  the  strain  about 
the  boy's  mouth.  "I  never  thought  about  it 
until  come  night,  Young  VB.  I  never  thought 
about  it.  I  —  I  guess  I  'm  an  old  fool,  gettin' 
scared  th'  way  I  do.  So  I  shoved  this  candle 
up  against  th'  window  —  because  I  'm  an  old 
fool  and  thought  —  it  might  help  a  little." 

And  VB  answered:  "It  does  help,  Jed!  Every 
little  thing  helps.  And  oh,  God,  how  I  need  it!" 

He  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PURSUIT 

OUMMER  drew  toward  its  close  and  the  work 
*J  became  more  exacting.  Jed  was  sure  that 
more  of  his  colts  ran  the  range  without  brands, 
and  the  two  rode  constantly,  searching  every 
gulch  and  break  for  the  strays.  One  day  they 
went  far  to  the  east,  and  at  noon  encountered 
three  of  Bob  Thorpe's  men  building  fence. 

"It's  his  new  drift  fence,"  Jed  explained. 
"He's  goin'  to  have  a  lot  of  winter  pasture,  to  be 
sure  he  is.  It'll  help  us,  too.  When  we  come 
takin'  these  here  willow  tails  off  this  ridge  they'll 
find  somethin'  new.  It's  so  close  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  rise  that  they  can't  jump  it." 

"Thorpe  must  be  rich,"  remarked  Young  VB 
as  they  went  on  along  the  fence. 

"Rich  don't  say  it!  He's  rollin'  in  money, 
an'  he  sure  knows  how  to  enjoy  it.  Every  winter, 
when  things  gets  squared  away,  he  takes  his  wife 
an'  goes  to  California.  I  s'pose  he'll  be  takin' 
his  girl,  too  —  now  that  she 's  quit  goin'  to  school." 

The  boy  wanted  to  ask  questions  about  this 
daughter  of  Bob  Thorpe's,  but  a  diffidence,  for 
which  there  was  no  accounting,  held  him  back. 
He  was  curious  as  he  had  been  whenever  he  heard 
of  or  thought  of  her,  and  as  he  had  been  when  he 

106 


PURSUIT  107 

had  once  seen  her.  But  somehow  he  did  not  care 
to  admit  that  curiosity  even  to  Jed,  and  when  he 
tried  to  analyze  the  reason  for  his  reticence  there 
was  no  doing  so. 

Now  came  more  knowledge  of  the  waste  places 
with  weeks  of  riding;  more  knowledge  of  the 
barren  area  in  his  own  heart  with  self-study; 
more  pertinent,  that  which  the  Captain  typified. 

And  all  the  time  that  struggle  continued,  which 
at  times  seemed  only  the  hopeless  floundering 
of  a  man  in  quicksands  —  life  on  the  river  bank 
so  close;  death  below,  certain,  mocking  his 
efforts. 

"He  has  faith  in  himself  because  he  is  physi 
cally  equipped,"  VB  murmured  one  day  as  he 
saw  the  Captain  standing  against  the  sky  on  a 
distant  ridge.  "His  belief  in  himself  is  justified. 
But.  I  —  what  do  I  know  about  my  own  capa 
bilities?" 

Yet  a  latent  quality  in  the  boy  was  the  sort 
that  offsets  doubts,  else  why  this  emulation  of  the 
stallion,  why  this  feeling  that  was  almost  love, 
constant,  always  growing,  never  hesitating  ? 

Like  most  men,  Young  VB  was  unprepared  for 
the  big  moments  of  his  life.  Could  we  only 
foresee  them,  is  the  plaint  of  men!  Could  we 
only  know  and  go  out  to  meet  them  in  spirit 
proper!  And  yet  that  very  state  of  preparation 
might  take  from  the  all-encompassing  grandeur 
of  those  passages  a  potent  element. 


io8  _I   CONQUERED" 

After  all,  this  scheme  of  things  has  its  com 
pensations,  and  inability  to  foretell  the  future 
may  be  one  of  the  greatest. 

With  fear  in  his  heart  and  black  discourage 
ment  and  lack  of  faith,  Young  VB  went  out  to 
meet  what  proved  to  be  his  first  great  moment. 

Jed  had  gone  to  the  railroad,  bound  for  the 
Springs,  to  untangle  a  mess  of  red  tape  that  had 
snarled  about  his  filing  on  some  land.  VB  was 
left  alone,  and  for  days  the  young  fellow  saw  no 
one.  In  the  natural  loneliness  that  followed,  the 
assault  came  upon  him  with  manifold  force.  He 
could  not  sleep,  could  not  eat,  could  not  remain 
in  one  place  or  keep  his  mind  on  a  fixed  purpose. 

He  walked  about,  talking  to  himself  in  the 
.silence,  trying  ineffectually  to  do  the  necessary 
work  of  the  ranch,  trying  to  stifle  the  loud  voice 
that  begged  him  to  forego  all  the  struggle  and 
let  his  impulses  carry  him  where  they  would. 

But  were  not  his  impulses  carrying  him? 
Was  it  not  his  first  impulse  to  go  on  with  the 
fight?  He  did  not  think  of  that. 

At  times  it  was  hard  indeed  to  differentiate 
between  the  real  and  the  unreal.  The  voice 
that  wheedled  was  such  a  twister  of  words  and 
terms,  and  its  ally,  the  thirst,  raged  with  such 
virility  that  he  was  forced  to  do  something  with 
his  body.  To  remain  an  unresisting  victim  to 
the  torture  would  only  invite  disaster. 

Throwing  a  saddle  on  his  "top"  horse,  Young 
VB  set  out,  leaving  the  half -prepared  dinner  as 


PURSUIT  109 

it  was,  unable  even  to  wait  for  food.  He  rode 
swiftly  up  the  gulch  to  where  it  forked,  and  then 
to  the  right,  letting  the  stanch  animal  under 
him  cover  the  ground  at  a  swinging  trot.  In 
three  hours  he  was  miles  from  the  ranch,  far 
back  in  the  hills,  and  climbing  to  the  top  of  a 
stretching  ridge.  He  breathed  through  his  mouth, 
to  let  the  air  on  his  burning  throat,  and  twisted 
his  bridle  reins  until  the  stout  leather  was  mis 
shapen,  utterly  lost  in  the  conflict  which  went 
on  within,  heedless  cf  all  else. 

Suddenly  he  realized  that  his  horse  had  come 
a  long  distance  without  rest.  He  dismounted  in 
a  thicket  of  cedars,  sharply  repentant  that  his 
own  torment  had  led  him  to  forget  the  beast 
that  served  him,  and  even  the  distraction  of 
that  concern  brought  relief. 

With  the  cinch  eased  the  horse  stood  and 
breathed  gratefully.  But  he  was  not  fagged, 
he  was  still  alert  and  eager.  His  ears  were  set 
stiffly  forward,  and  he  gazed  upwind,  sniffing 
softly  now  and  then. 

"What  you  see,  cayuse?"  VB  asked,  trying 
to  make  out  the  cause  of  that  attentiveness. 

Again  the  sniffing,  and  of  a  sudden  the  horse 
froze,  stopped  his  breathing,  and  VB,  a  hand 
on  the  beast's  hip,  felt  a  quick  tremor  run  through 
him. 

Then  the  man  saw  that  which  had  caused  the 
animal  to  tremble,  and  the  sight  set  him  tingling 
just  as  it  always  did. 


no  "_I   CONQUERED" 

A  hundred  yards  up  the  ridge,  sharp  against 
the  sky,  commanding,  watchful,  stood  the  Cap 
tain.  He  had  not  seen  or  scented  VB,  for  he 
looked  in  other  directions,  moving  his  head  from 
point  to  point,  scanning  every  nook  of  the  coun 
try  below  him.  Something  mannish  there  was 
about  that  beast,  a  comprehensive,  planned  vigi 
lance.  Down  below  him  in  a  sag  fed  the  mares. 

As  VB  looked  at  that  watcher  he  felt  the  lust 
to  possess  crawling  up,  surging  through  him, 
blotting  out  that  other  desire,  that  torment, 
making  his  breath  congest,  making  his  mouth 
dry.  He  tightened  his  cinch  and  mounted. 

The  Captain  did  not  see  VB  until  the  rider 
came  clear  of  the  cover  in  which  he  had  halted. 

For  the  instant  only,  as  the  rushing  horseman 
broke  through  the  cedars,  a  scudding,  fluttering 
object  hurtling  across  the  low  brush,  the  black 
stallion  stood  as  though  his  feet  were  imbedded 
in  the  rock  under  him,  his  head  full  toward  the 
rushing  rider,  nose  up,  astonishment  in  the  very 
angle  of  his  stiff  ears.  Then  those  ears  went 
flat;  the  sleek  body  pivoted  on  its  dainty  hind 
feet,  and  a  scream  of  angered  warning  came 
from  the  long  throat. 

Even  as  the  Captain's  front  hoofs  clawed  the 
ground  in  his  first  leap,  the  mares  were  running. 
They  drew  close  together,  frightened  by  the 
abruptness  of  the  alarm,  scuttling  away  from  the 
punishment  they  knew  would  be  coming  from, 
their  master  if  they  wasted  seconds. 


PURSUIT  in 

VB  was  possessed  again.  His  reason  told  him 
that  a  single  horseman  had  no  chance  in  the 
world  with  that  bunch,  that  he  could  not  hope 
to  keep  up  even  long  enough  to  scatter  the  band, 
that  he  would  only  run  his  mount  down,  good 
horse  that  he  was.  But  the  lust  urged  him  on, 
tugging  at  his  vitals,  and  he  gave  vent  to  his 
excitement  in  sharp  screams  of  joy,  the  joy  of 
the  hunt  —  and  the  joy  of  honest  attempt  at 
supreme  accomplishment. 

The  dust  trailed  behind  the  bunch,  enveloping 
the  rushing  Captain  in  a  dun  mantle,  finally  to 
be  whipped  away  by  the  breeze.  They  tore 
down  stiff  sagebrush  in  their  flight;  and  so  great 
was  the  strain  that  their  bellies  skimmed  incred 
ibly  close  to  the  ground. 

VB's  horse  caught  the  spirit  of  the  chase,  as 
do  all  animals  when  they  follow  their  kind.  He 
extended  himself  to  the  last  fiber,  and  with  aston 
ishment  —  a  glad  astonishment  that  brought  a 
whoop  of  triumph  —  the  boy  saw  that  the  mares 
were  not  drawing  away  —  that  he  was  crawling 
up  on  them! 

But  the  Captain!  Ah,  he  was  running  away 
from  the  man  who  gave  chase,  was  putting  more 
distance  between  them  at  every  thundering  leap, 
was  drawing  closer  to  his  slower  mares,  lip 
stretched  back  over  his  gleaming  teeth,  jaws 
working  as  he  strained  to  reach  them  and  make 
that  band  go  still  faster. 

VB's  quirt  commenced  to  sing  its  goading  tune, 


ri2  "_I  CONQUERED" 

slashing  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other.  He 
hung  far  forward  over  the  fork  of  his  saddle, 
leaning  low  to  offer  the  least  possible  resistance 
to  the  wind.  Now  and  then  he  called  aloud  to 
his  pony,  swearing  with  glad  savagery. 

The  Captain  reached  his  bunch,  closing  in  on 
them  with  a  burst  of  speed  that  seemed  beyond 
the  abilities  of  blood  and  bone.  The  man  behind 
thought  he  heard  those  long  teeth  pop  as  they 
caught  the  rump  of  a  scurrying  mare;  surely  he 
heard  the  stallion's  scream  of  rage  as,  after 
nipping  mare  after  mare,  running  to  and  fro 
behind  them,  he  found  that  they  had  opened 
their  hearts  to  the  last  limit  and  could  go  no 
faster.  They  could  not  do  it  —  and  the  rider 
behind  was  crawling  up,  jump  for  jump,  gaining 
a  yard,  losing  a  foot,  gaining  again,  steadily, 
relentlessly. 

VB  did  not  know  that  Kelly,  the  horse  buyer, 
and  one  of  Dick  Worth's  riders  had  given  the 
outlaws  a  long,  tedious  race  that  morning  as  they 
were  coming  in  from  the  dry  country  to  the 
west  for  water  and  better  feed.  He  did  not 
know  that  the  band  had  been  filling  their  bellies 
with  great  quantities  of  water,  crowding  them 
still  more  with  grasses,  until  there  was  no  room 
left  for  the  working  of  lungs,  for  the  stretching 
of  taxed  muscles. 

He  saw  only  the  one  fact :  that  he  was  gaining 
on  the  Captain.  He  did  not  stop  even  to  con 
sider  the  obvious  ending  of  such  a  chase.  He 


PURSUIT  113 

might  scatter  the  band,  but  what  of  it?  When 
the  last  hope  had  been  cast  the  Captain  would 
strike  out  alone,  would  turn  all  the  energy  that 
now  went  to  driving  his  mares  to  making  good 
his  own  escape,  and  then  there  would  be  no  more 
race — just  a  widening  of  a  breach  that  could  not 
be  closed. 

But  VB  did  not  think  of  anything  beyond  the 
next  stride.  His  mind  was  possessed  with  the 
idea  that  every  leap  of  the  laboring  beast  under 
him  must  bring  him  closer  to  the  huddle  of 
frantic  horses,  nearer  to  the  flying  hindquarters 
of  the  jet  leader  who  tried  so  hard  to  make  his 
authority  override  circumstance. 

The  slashing  of  the  quirt  became  more  vicious. 
VB  strained  farther  forward.  His  lips  were 
parted,  his  eyes  strained  open  with  excitement, 
and  the  tears  started  by  that  rushing  streamed 
over  his  cheeks. 

"E-e-eyah!"  he  shrieked. 

The  buckskin  mare  found  a  hole.  Her  hind 
legs  went  into  the  air,  sticking  toward  the  sky 
above  that  thundering  clump  of  tossing,  rushing 
bodies  with  its  fringes  of  fluttering  hair.  Her 
legs  seemed  to  poise  a  moment;  then  they  went 
down  slowly.  The  Captain  leaped  her  prostrate 
body,  to  sink  his  teeth  into  the  flank  of  a  sorrel 
that  lagged  half  a  length  behind  the  others. 

VB  passed  so  near  the  buckskin  as  she  gained 
her  faltering  feet  that  he  could  have  slashed  her 
with  his  quirt.  Yet  he  had  no  eyes  for  her,  had 

8 


ii4  '—I   CONQUERED" 

no  heed  for  any  of  the  mares.  He  was  playing 
for  the  bigger  game. 

The  sorrel  quit,  unable  to  respond  to  that 
punishment,  fearful  of  her  master.  She  angled 
off  to  the  right,  to  be  rid  of  him,  and  disappeared 
through  a  clump  of  trees.  The  stallion  shrilled 
his  anger  and  disgust,  slowing  his  gallop  a  half- 
dozen  jumps  as  though  he  wanted  to  follow  and 
punish  her  cruelly. 

Then  he  glanced  backward,  threw  his  nose 
in  the  air  and,  stretching  to  his  own  tremendous 
speed  again,  stormed  on. 

The  huddle  of  mares  became  less  compact, 
seemed  to  lose  also  its  unity  of  purpose.  The 
Captain  had  more  to  do.  His  trips  from  flank 
to  flank  of  the  band  were  longer.  By  the  time 
he  had  spurred  the  gray  at  the  left  back  into 
the  lead  the  brown  three-year-old  on  the  other 
wing  was  a  loiterer  by  a  length.  Then,  when 
she  was  sent  ahead,  the  gray  was  lagging  again. 
And  another  by  her  side,  perhaps. 

"E-e-eyah!" 

VB's  throat  was  raw  from  the  screaming,  but 
he  did  not  know  it  —  no  more  than  he  knew  that 
his  hat  was  gone  or  that  his  nerves  still  yearned 
for  their  stinging  stimulant. 

The  cry,  coming  again  and  again,  worried  the 
Captain.  Each  time  it  crackled  from  VB's  lips 
the  black  nose  was  flung  high  and  an  eye  which 
glared  orange  hate  even  at  that  distance  rolled 
back  to  watch  this  yelling  pursuer. 


PURSUIT  115 

VB  saw,  and  began  to  shout  words  at  the  ani 
mal,  to  cry  his  challenge,  to  curse. 

The  galloping  gray  quit,  without  an  attempt 
to  rally.  The  Captain  brought  to  bear  a  terrific 
punishment,  dropping  back  to  within  thirty 
yards  of  the  man  who  pressed  him,  but  it  was 
useless,  for  she  was  spent.  The  water  and 
luscious  grass  in  her  dammed  up  the  reservoirs 
of  her  vitality,  would  not  let  her  respond.  When 
the  stallion  gave  her  up  and  tore  on  after  the 
others  she  dropped  even  her  floundering  gallop, 
and  as  VB  raced  past  her  he  heard  the  breath 
sob  down  her  throat. 

On  and  across  they  tore,  dropping  into  sags  of 
the  ridge,  climbing  sharp  little  pitches,  swinging 
now  to  the  right  and  bending  back  to  the  left 
again  in  a  sweeping  curve.  The  uneven  galloping 
of  the  horse  under  him,  the  gulps  for  breath  the 
pony  made  as  the  footing  fooled  him  and  he 
jolted  sharply,  the  shiftings  and  duckings  and 
quick  turnings  as  they  stormed  through  groups 
of  trees,  the  rattle  of  brush  as  it  smote  his  boot 
toes  and  stirrups  were  all  unheeded  by  VB. 

Once  his  shoulder  met  a  tough  cedar  bough, 
and  the  blow  wrenched  it  from  its  trunk.  His 
face  wras  whipped  to  rawness  by  smaller  branches, 
and  one  knee  throbbed  dully  where  it  had  skimmed 
a  bowlder  as  they  shot  past.  But  he  saw  only 
that  floundering  band  ahead. 

The  buckskin  was  gone,  the  sorrel,  the  gray; 
next,  two  mares  quit  together,  and  the  Captain, 


n6        "_I  CONQUERED" 

seeing  them  go,  did  not  slacken  his  speed,  did  not 
even  scream  his  rage.  Only  four  remained,  and 
he  gambled  on  them  as  against  the  slight  chance 
of  recovering  any  of  those  others ;  for  that  scream 
ing  rider  was  closing  in  on  him  all  the  time. 

Oh,  water  and  grass!  How  necessary  both  are 
to  life,  but  how  dangerous  at  a  time  like  this! 
Pop-pop!  The  teeth  closed  on  those  running 
hips.  The  vainness  of  it  all!  They  could  go  no 
faster.  They  had  tried  first  from  instinct,  then 
from  willingness;  now  they  tried  from  fear  as 
their  lord  tortured  them.  But  though  the  will 
was  there,  the  ability  could  not  come,  not  even 
when  the  Captain  pushed  through  them,  and  in 
a  desperate  maneuver  set  the  pace,  showing  them 
his  fine  heels  and  clean  limbs,  demonstrating  how 
easy  it  was  to  go  on  and  on  and  draw  away  from 
that  rider  who  tugged  at  his  muffler  that  wind 
might  find  and  cool  his  throat,  burning  now  from 
unalloyed  hope. 

And  so  VB,  the  newest  horse  runner  on  the 
range,  scattered  the  Captain's  band,  accomplish 
ing  all  that  the  best  of  the  men  who  rode  that 
country  had  ever  been  able  to  boast. 

The  stallion  tried  once  more  to  rally  his  mates 
into  escape,  but  their  hearts  were  bursting,  their 
lungs  clogged.  They  could  do  no  more. 

Then  away  he  went  alone,  head  high  and  turning 
from  side  to  side,  mane  flaunting,  tail  trailing  grace 
fully  behind  him,  beauty  in  every  regal  line  and 
curve,  majestic  superiority  in  each  stride  he  took. 


PURSUIT  117 

He  raced  off  into  the  country  that  stretched 
eastward,  the  loser  for  the  time  of  one  set  of  con 
quests  but  free  —  free  to  go  on  and  make  himself 
more  high,  more  powerful,  more  a  thing  to  be 
emulated  even  by  man. 

He  ran  lightly,  evenly,  without  effort,  and  the 
gap  between  him  and  the  rider  behind,  narrowed 
by  such  tremendous  exertion  from  that  lathered 
pony,  widened  with  scarce  an  added  effort. 

But  VB  went  on,  driving  his  reeking  pony  merci 
lessly.  He  had  ceased  yelling  now.  His  face  was 
set;  blood  that  had  been  whipped  into  it  by  his 
frenzy,  by  the  rushing  of  the  wind,  by  the  smiting 
of  branches,  left  the  skin.  It  became  white,  and 
from  that  visage  two  eyes  glowed  abnormally 
brilliant.  For  the  Captain  was  taking  off  the 
ridge  where  it  bent  and  struck  into  the  north,  was 
plunging  down  over  the  pitch  into  the  shadows. 
He  was  going  his  best,  in  long,  keen  strides  that 
would  carry  him  to  the  bottom  with  a  momentum 
so  tremendous  that  on  the  flat  he  would  be  run 
ning  himself  into  a  blur.  And  VB's  face  was 
colorless,  with  eyes  brilliant,  because  he  knew 
that  along  the  bottom  of  the  drop  ran  the 
new  drift  fence  that  Bob  Thorpe's  men  were 
erecting. 

He  began  to  plead  with  his  pony,  to  talk  to 
him  childishly,  to  beg  him  to  keep  his  feet,  to  coax 
him  to  last,  to  pray  him  to  follow  —  and  in  con 
trol  of  himself,  and  on  time!  As  they  dropped 
off  the  ridge,  down  through  the  sliding  shale  and 


n8        "_I  CONQUERED" 

scattered  brush,  VB's  right  hand,  upraised  to 
keep  his  balance,  held  the  loop  of  his  rope,  and 
the  other,  flung  behind  the  cantle  of  his  saddle, 
grasped  the  coils  of  the  sturdy  hemp. 

Oh,  Captain,  your  speed  was  against  you !  You 
took  off  that  ridge  with  those  ground-covering 
leaps,  limbs  flying,  heart  set  on  reaching  the 
bottom  with  a  swirl  of  speed  that  would  dis 
hearten  your  follower.  But  you  did  not  reckon  on 
an  obstruction,  on  the  thing  your  eyes  encountered 
when  halfway  down  that  height  and  going  with 
all  the  power  within  you.  Those  fresh  posts  and 
the  wires  strung  between  them !  A  fence !  Men 
had  invaded  your  territory  with  their  barriers,  and 
at  such  a  time!  You  knew,  too,  that  there  was 
no  jumping  it;  they  had  set  the  posts  so  far  up 
on  the  pitch  that  no  take-off  had  been  left. 

So  the  Captain  tried  to  stop.  With  haunches 
far  under  him,  front  feet  straight  before,  belly 
scrubbing  the  brush,  he  battled  to  overcome  the 
awful  impetus  his  body  had  received  up  above. 
Sprawling,  sliding,  feet  shooting  in  any  direction 
as  the  footing  gave,  he  struggled  to  stop  his 
progress.  It  was  no  simple  matter;  indeed, 
checking  that  flight  was  far  more  difficult  than 
the  attaining  of  that  speed.  In  the  midst  of  roll 
ing,  bounding  stones,  sliding  dust,  breaking  brush, 
the  great  stallion  gradually  slowed  his  going.  Slow 
and  more  slowly  he  went  on  toward  the  bottom; 
almost  stopped,  but  still  was  unable  to  bring  his 
muscles  into  play  for  a  dash  to  right  or  left 


PURSUIT  119 

On  behind,  pony  floundering  in  the  wake  of  the 
Captain,  rode  VB,  right  hand  high,  snapping 
back  and  forth  to  hold  him  erect,  rope  dangling 
from  it  crazily.  He  breathed  through  his  mouth, 
and  at  every  exhalation  his  vocal  chords  vibrated. 

Perhaps  even  then  the  Captain  might  have 
won.  The  odds  of  the  game  were  all  against 
him,  it  is  true,  for  breaking  down  the  pitch  as 
he  did,  it  required  longer  for  him  to  reach  the 
bottom  in  possession  of  his  equilibrium  than  it 
did  the  slower-moving  horse  that  bore  VB.  It 
would  have  been  a  tight  squeeze  for  the  horse, 
but  the  man  was  in  a  poor  position  to  cast  his 
loop  with  any  degree  of  accuracy. 

But  a  flat  sliding  stone  discounted  all  other 
factors.  Nothing  else  mattered.  The  Captain 
came  to  a  stop,  eyes  wild,  ears  back.  With  a 
slow-starting,  mighty  lunge,  he  made  as  though 
to  turn  and  race  down  along  the  line  of  fence 
before  VB  could  get  within  striking  distance. 
The  great  muscles  contracted,  his  ragged  hoofs 
sought  a  hold.  The  hind  legs  straightened,  that 
mighty  force  bore  on  his  footing  —  and  the  stone 
slipped!  The  Captain  was  outlucked. 

His  hind  legs  shot  backward,  staggering  him. 
His  hindquarters  slipped  downhill,  throwing  his 
head  up  to  confront  VB.  His  nostrils  flared, 
that  orange  hate  in  his  eyes  met  the  glow  from 
his  pursuer's,  who  came  down  upon  him  —  only 
half  a  dozen  lengths  away! 


CHAPTER  X 

CAPTURE 

IT  does  not  take  a  horse  that  is  bearing  a  rider 
downhill  an  appreciable  length  of  time  to  take 
one  more  stride.  Gravity  does  the  work.  The 
horse  jerks  his  fore  legs  from  under  his  body  and 
then  shoots  them  out  again  for  fresh  hold  to  keep 
his  downward  progress  within  reason. 

VB's  pony  went  down  the  drop  with  much 
more  rapidity  than  safety,  in  short,  jerky,  stiff- 
legged  plunges,  hindquarters  scrooged  far  under 
his  body;  alert,  watching  his  footing,  grunting 
in  his  care  not  to  take  too  great  risks. 

When  the  Captain,  fooled  by  false  footing, 
was  whirled  about  to  face  the  down-coming  rider, 
the  pony's  fore  feet  had  just  drawn  themselves 
out  of  the  way  to  let  his  body  farther  down  the 
slope.  And  when  the  sturdy  legs  again  shot  out 
to  strike  rock  and  keep  horse  and  VB  upright, 
the  black  stallion  had  started  to  wheel.  But  in 
the  split  second  which  intervened  between  the 
beginning  and  ending  of  that  floundering  jump, 
eyes  met  eyes.  The  eyes  of  a  man  met  the  eyes 
of  a  beast,  and  heart  read  heart.  The  eyes  of  a 
man  who  had  frittered  his  life,  who  had  flaunted 
his  heritage  of  strength  in  body  and  bone  until 
he  had  become  a  weakling,  a  cringing,  whining 


120 


CAPTURE  121 

center  of  abnormal  nervous  activities,  fearing 
himself,  met  the  eyes  of  a  beast  that  knew  him 
self  to  be  a  paragon  of  his  kind,  the  final  achieve 
ment  of  his  strain,  a  commanding  force  that  had 
never  been  curbed,  that  had  defied  alike  his 
own  kingdom  and  the  race  from  which  had  sprung 
the  being  now  confronting  him. 

The  eyes  of  him  who  had  been  a  weakling  met 
the  eyes  of  that  which  had  been  superstrong 
and  without  a  waver;  they  held,  they  penetrated, 
and,  suddenly  born  from  the  purposeless  life  of 
Danny  Lenox,  flamed  Young  VB's  soul.  All  the 
emulation,  all  the  lust  this  beast  before  him  had 
roused  in  his  heart,  became  amalgamated  with 
that  part  of  him  which  subtly  strove  to  drag 
him  away  from  debauchery,  and  upon  those 
blending  elements  of  strength  was  set  the  lasting 
stamp  of  his  individuality. 

His  purpose  flamed  in  his  eyes  and  its  light 
was  so  great  that  the  horse  read,  and,  reading, 
set  his  ears  forward  and  screamed  —  not  so 
much  a  scream  of  anger  as  of  wondering  terror. 
For  the  beast  caught  the  significance  of  that 
splendid  determination  which  made  for  conquest 
with  a  power  equal  to  his  own  strength,  which 
was  making  for  escape.  The  telepathic  com 
munication  from  the  one  to  the  other  was  the 
same  force  that  sends  a  jungle  king  into  antics 
at  the  pleasure  of  his  trainer  —  the  language  that 
transcends  species! 

The  pony's  hoofs  dug  shale  once  more,  and  the 


122  "_I   CONQUERED" 

upraised  right  arm  whipped  about  the  tousled 
head.  The  rope  swished  angrily  as  it  slashed 
the  air.  Once  it  circled  —  and  the  Captain 
jumped,  lunging  off  to  the  left.  Twice  it  cut  its 
disk  —  and  the  stallion's  quivering  flanks  gathered 
for  a  second  leap.  It  writhed;  it  stretched  out 
waveringly,  seekingly,  feelingly  as  though  uncer 
tain,  almost  blindly,  but  swiftly  —  so  swiftly ! 
The  loop  flattened  and  spread  and  undulated, 
drawing  the  long  stretch  of  hemp  after  it  teas- 
ingly.  It  stopped,  as  though  suddenly  tired. 
It  poised  with  uncanny  deliberation.  Then,  as 
gently  as  a  maiden's  sigh,  it  settled  —  settled  — 
drooped  —  and  the  Captain's  nose,  reaching  out 
for  liberty,  to  be  free  of  this  man  whose  eyes 
flamed  a  determination  so  stanch  that  it  went 
down  to  his  beast  heart,  thrust  itself  plumb 
through  the  middle. 

The  hoarse  rip  of  the  hard-twist  coming  through 
its  hondu,  the  whistle  of  breath  from  the  man's 
tight  teeth,  the  rattle  of  stone  on  stone;  then  the 
squeal  from  the  stallion  as  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  a  bond  tightened  on  him! 

He  shook  his  head  angrily,  and  even  as  he 
leaped  a  third  time  back  toward  his  free  hills 
one  forefoot  was  raised  to  strike  from  him  the 
snaring  strand.  The  pawing  hoof  did  not  reach 
its  mark,  did  not  find  the  thin,  lithe  thing  which 
throttled  down  on  him,  for  the  Captain's  momen 
tum  carried  him  to  the  end  of  the  rope. 

They  put  the  strain  on  the  hemp,  both  going 


CAPTURE  123 

away,  those  horses.  VB  struggled  with  his 
mount  to  have  him  ready  for  the  shock,  but 
before  he  could  bring  about  a  full  stop  that 
shock  arrived.  It  seemed  as  though  it  would 
tear  the  horn  from  the  saddle.  The  pony, 
sturdy  little  beast,  was  yanked  to  his  knees  and 
swung  half  about,  and  VB  recovered  himself  only 
by  grabbing  the  saddle  fork. 

The  black  stallion  again  faced  the  man  — 
faced  him  because  his  heels  had  been  cracked  in 
a  semicircle  through  the  air  by  the  force  of  that 
burning  thing  about  his  neck.  For  ten  long 
seconds  the  Captain  stood  braced  against  the 
rope,  moving  his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side 
for  all  the  world  as  a  refractory,  gentled  colt 
might  do,  with  as  much  display  of  fight  as  would 
be  shown  by  a  mule  that  dissented  at  the  idea 
of  being  led  across  a  ditch.  He  just  stood  there 
stupidly,  twisting  his  head. 

The  thick  mane  rumpled  up  under  the  tight 
ening  rope,  some  of  the  drenched  hair  of  the  neck 
was  pulled  out  as  the  hemp  rolled  upward, 
drawing  closer,  shutting  down  and  down.  The 
depression  in  the  flesh  grew  deeper.  One  hind 
foot  lost  its  hold  in  the  shale  and  shot  out;  the 
Captain  lifted  it  and  moved  it  forward  again 
slowly,  cautiously,  for  fresh,  steady  straining. 

Then  it  came.  The  windpipe  closed;  he 
coughed,  and  like  the  sudden  fury  of  a  moun 
tain  thunderstorm  the  Captain  turned  loose  his 
giant  forces.  The  thing  had  jerked  him  back  in 


124.  "—I   CONQUERED" 

his  rush  toward  freedom.  It  held  him  where  he 
did  not  want  to  be  held!  And  it  choked! 

Forefeet  clawing,  rearing  to  his  hind  legs  with 
a  quivering  strength  of  lift  that  dragged  the 
bracing  pony  through  the  shale,  the  great,  black 
horse-regal  screamed  and  coughed  his  rage  and 
beat  upon  that  vibrating  strand  which  made  him 
prisoner  —  that  web  —  that  fragile  thing ! 

Again  and  again  he  struck  it,  but  it  only 
danced  —  only  danced,  and  tightened  its  clutch 
on  his  throat!  He  reached  for  it  with  his  long 
teeth  and  clamped  them  on  it,  but  the  thing 
would  not  yield.  He  settled  to  all  fours  again, 
threw  his  head  from  side  to  side,  and  strove 
to  move  backward  with  a  frenzied  floundering 
that  sent  the  pebbles  rattling  yards  about  him. 

It  was  a  noble  effort.  Into  the  attempt  to 
drag  away  from  that  anchorage  the  Captain 
put  his  very  spirit.  He  struggled  and  choked 
and  strained.  And  all  the  time  that  man  sat 
there  on  his  horse,  tense,  watching  silently,  mov 
ing  his  free  hand  slightly  to  and  fro,  as  though 
beating  time  to  music.  His  lips  were  parted, 
his  face  still  blanched.  And  in  his  eyes  glowed 
that  purpose  which  knows  no  defeat! 

System  departed.  Like  a  hot  blast  wickedness 
came.  Teeth  bared,  ears  flat,  with  sounds  like 
an  angered  child's  ranting  coming  from  his 
throat,  the  stallion  charged  his  man  enemy  just 
as  he  had  charged  the  powerful  Percheron  who 
had  come  to  challenge  him  a  month  ago.  The 


CAPTURE  125 

saddle  horse,  seeing  it,  avoided  the  brunt  of  the 
first  blind  rush,  taking  the  Captain's  shoulder 
on  his  rump  as  the  black  hurtler  went  past, 
striking  thin  air. 

VB  felt  the  Captain's  breath,  saw  from  close 
up  the  lurid  flame  in  his  eyes,  sensed  the  power 
of  those  teeth,  the  sledge-hammer  force  behind 
those  untrimmed  hoofs.  And  he  came  alive, 
the  blood  shooting  close  under  his  skin  again  and 
making  the  gray  face  bronze,  then  deeper  than 
bronze.  His  eyes  puffed  under  the  stress  of  that 
emotion,  and  he  felt  a  primitive  desire  to  growl 
as  the  Captain  whirled  and  came  again.  It 
was  man  to  beast,  and  somewhere  down  yonder 
through  the  generations  a  dead  racial  memory 
came  back  and  Young  VB,  girded  for  the  conflict, 
ached  to  have  his  forest  foe  in  reach,  to  have 
the  fight  run  high,  to  have  his  chance  to  dare 
and  do  in  fleshly  struggle! 

It  was  not  long  in  coming.  The  near  hoof,  strik 
ing  down  to  crush  his  chest,  fell  short,  and  the  hair 
of  VB's  chap  leg  went  ripping  from  the  leather, 
while  along  his  thigh  crept  a  dull,  spreading  ache. 

He  did  not  notice  that,  though,  for  he  was 
raised  in  his  stirrups,  right  hand  lifted  high,  its 
fingers  clutched  about  the  lash  of  his  loaded  quirt. 
He  felt  the  breath  again,  hot,  wet,  and  a  splatter 
of  froth  from  the  flapping  lips  struck  his  cheek. 
Then  the  right  hand  came  down  with  a  snap  and 
a  jerk,  with  all  the  vigor  of  muscular  force  that 
VB  could  summon. 


126  "__I   CONQUERED" 

His  eye  had  been  good,  his  judgment  true. 
The  Captain's  teeth  did  not  sink  into  his  flesh, 
for  the  quirt-butt,  a  leaden  slug,  crunched  on 
the  horse's  skull,  right  between  the  ears! 

The  fury  of  motion  departed,  like  the  going 
of  a  cyclone.  The  Captain  dropped  to  all  fours 
and  hung  his  head,  staggered  a  half-dozen  short 
paces  drunkenly,  and  then  sighed  deeply  — 

He  reached  the  end  of  the  rope.  It  came  tight 
again,  and  with  the  tightening  —  the  battle ! 
Thrice  more  he  charged  the  man  with  all  the 
hate  his  wild  heart  could  summon,  but  not  once 
did  those  dreadful  teeth  find  that  which  they 
sought.  Again  the  front  hoof  met  its  mark  and 
racked  the  flesh  of  VB's  leg,  but  that  did  not 
matter.  He  could  stand  that  punishment,  for  he 
was  winning!  He  was  countering  the  stallion's 
efforts,  which  made  the  contest  an  even  break; 
and  his  rope  was  on  and  he  had  dealt  one  telling 
blow  with  his  quirt.  Two  points!  And  the  boy 
screamed  his  triumph  as  the  missile  he  swung 
landed  again,  on  the  soft  nose  this  time,  the  nose 
so  wrinkled  with  hateful  desire  —  and  the  Cap 
tain  swung  off  to  one  side  from  the  stinging  force 
of  it. 

Not  in  delight  at  punishment  was  that  cry. 
The  blow  on  the  skull,  the  slug  at  the  nose  stabbed 
VB  to  his  tenderest  depths.  But  he  knew  it 
must  be  so,  and  his  shout  was  a  shout  of  conquest 
—  of  the  first  man  asserting  primal  authority, 
of  the  last  man  coming  into  his  own! 


CAPTURE  127 

The  dust  they  stirred  rose  stiflingly.  Down 
there  under  the  hill  no  moving  breath  of  air 
would  carry  it  off.  The  pony  under  VB  grunted 
and  strained,  but  was  jerked  sharply  about  by 
the  rushes  of  the  heavier  stallion,  heavier  and 
built  of  things  above  mere  flesh  and  bone  and 
tendon.  The  Captain's  belly  dripped  water; 
VB's  face  was  glossy  with  it,  his  hair  plastered 
down  to  brow  and  temple. 

The  three  became  tired.  In  desperation  the 
Captain  dropped  the  fight,  turned  to  run,  plunged 
out  as  though  to  part  the  strands.  VB's  heart 
leaped  as  his  faith  in  the  rope  faltered  —  but  it 
held,  and  the  stallion,  pulled  about,  lost  his 
footing,  floundered,  stumbled,  went  down,  and 
rolled  into  the  shale,  feet  threshing  the  air. 

It  was  an  opening  —  the  widest  VB  had  had, 
wider  than  he  could  have  hoped  for,  and  he 
rushed  in,  stabbing  his  horse  shamelessly  with 
spurs  and  babbling  witlessly  as  he  strove  to  make 
slack  in  the  rope.  The  slack  came.  Then  the 
quick  jerk  of  the  wrist  —  the  trick  he  had  per 
fected  back  there  in  Jed's  corral  —  and  a  poten 
tial  half -hitch  traveled  down  the  rope. 

The  Captain  floundered  to  get  his  feet  under 
him,  and  the  loop  in  the  rope  dissolved.  Again 
the  wrist  twitch,  again  the  shooting  loop  and  - 

' ' Scotched ! ' '  screamed  Young  VB.  " Scotched ! 
You're  my  property!" 

Scotched!  The  rope  had  found  its  hold  about 
the  off  hind  ankle  of  the  soiled  stallion,  and  there 


128  "__I  CONQUERED" 

it  clung  in  a  tight,  relentless  grasp.  The  rope 
from  neck  to  limb  was  so  short  that  it  kept  the 
foot  clear  of  the  ground,  crippling  the  Captain, 
and  as  the  great  horse  floundered  to  his  feet  VB 
had  him  powerless.  The  stallion  stood  dazed, 
looking  down  at  the  thing  which  would  not  let 
him  kick,  which  would  not  let  him  step. 

Then  he  sprang  forward,  and  when  the  rope 
came  tight  he  was  upended,  a  shoulder  plowing 
the  shale. 

"  It 's  no  use ! "  the  man  cried,  his  voice  crackling 
in  excitement.     "I've  got  you  right  —  right - 
right!" 

But  the  Captain  would  not  quit.  He  tried 
even  then  to  rise  to  his  hind  legs  and  make 
assatilt,  but  the  effort  only  sent  him  falling  back 
ward,  squealing  —  and  left  him  on  his  side, 
moaning  for  his  gone  liberty. 

For  he  knew.  He  knew  that  his  freedom  was 
gone,  even  as  he  made  his  last  floundering, 
piteous  endeavors.  He  got  up  and  tried  to  run, 
but  every  series  of  awkward  moves  only  sent  his 
black  body  down  into  the  dust  and  dirt,  and  at 
last  he  rested  there,  head  up,  defiance  still  in  his 
eyes,  but  legs  cramped  under  him. 

And  then  VB  wanted  to  cry.  He  went  through 
all  the  sensations  —  the  abrupt  drop  of  spirits, 
the  swelling  in  the  throat,  the  tickling  in  the 
nostrils. 

"Oh,  Captain!"  he  moaned.  "Captain,  don't 
you  see  I  wouldn't  harm  you?  Only  you  had 


CAPTURE  129 

to  be  mine!  I  had  to  get  bigger  than  you  were, 
Captain  —  for  my  own  salvation.  It  was  the 
only  way,  boy;  it  was  the  only  way!" 

And  he  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  his  eyes 
without  the  light  of  triumph,  on  his  captive. 

His  heart-beats  quickened,  a  new  warmth 
commenced  to  steal  through  his  veins,  a  new 
faith  in  self  welled  up  from  his  innermost  depths, 
making  his  pulses  sharp  and  hard,  making  his 
muscles  swell,  sending  his  spirit  up  and  up. 

He  had  fought  his  first  big  fight  and  he  had 
won! 

Blood  began  to  drip  from  the  stallion's  nose. 

"It's  where  I  struck  you!"  whispered  VB,  the 
triumph  all  gone  again,  solicitation  and  a  vast 
love  possessing  him.  "It's  where  I  struck  you, 
Captain.  Oh,  it  hurts  me,  too  —  but  it  must  be 
so,  because  things  are  as  they  are.  There  will 
be  more  hurts,  boy,  before  we're  through.  But 
it  must  be!" 

His  voice  gritted  on  the  last. 

Sounds  from  behind  roused  VB,  and  he  looked 
around. 

The  sunlight  was  going  even  from  the  ridge 
up  there,  and  the  whole  land  was  in  shadow.  He 
was  a  long  way  from  the  ranch  with  this  trophy — 
his,  but  still  ready  to  do  battle  at  the  end  of 
his  rope. 

"Got  one?"  a  man  cried,  coming  up,  and  VB 
recognized  him  as  one  of  the  trio  of  fence  builders, 
riding  back  to  their  camp. 

9 


i3o  "_I  CONQUERED" 

"Yes  —  one,"  muttered  VB,  and  turned  to 
look  at  the  Captain. 

Then  the  man  cried:  "You've  got  th'  Cap 
tain!" 

"It's  the  Captain,"  said  VB  unsteadily,  as 
though  too  much  breath  were  in  his  lungs.  ' '  He 's 
mine  —  you  know  —  mine ! ' ' 

The  others  looked  at  him  in  silent  awe. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE 

JED  A  VERY  had  been  away  from  Young  VB 
almost  two  weeks,  and  he  had  grown  im 
patient  in  the  interval.  So  he  pushed  his  bay 
pony  up  the  trail  from  Ranger,  putting  the  miles 
behind  him  as  quickly  as  possible.  The  little 
man  had  fretted  over  every  step  of  the  journey 
homeward,  and  from  Colt  on  into  the  hills  it 
was  a  conscious  effort  that  kept  him  from  abus 
ing  his  horse  by  overtravel. 

"If  he  should  have  gone  an'  busted  over  while 
I  was  away  I'd  —  I 'd  never  forgive  myself  — 
lettin'  that  boy  go  to  th'  bad  just  for  a  dinky 
claim!" 

It  was  the  thousandth  time  he  had  made  the 
declaration,  and  as  he  spoke  the  words  a  thank 
fulness  rose  in  his  heart  because  of  what  he  had 
not  heard  in  Ranger.  He  knew  that  VB  had  kept 
away  from  town.  Surely  that  was  a  comfort,  an 
assurance,  a  justification  for  his  faith  that  was 
firm  even  under  the  growling. 

Still,  there  might  have  been  a  wanderer  with 
a  bottle  — 

And  as  he  came  in  sight  of  his  own  buildings 
Jed  put  the  pony  to  a  gallop  for  the  first  time 
during  that  long  journey.  Smoke  rose  from  the 


132  "_I   CONQUERED" 

chimney,  the  door  stood  open,  an  atmosphere  of 
habitation  was  about  the  place,  and  that  proved 
something.  He  crowded  his  horse  close  against 
the  gate,  leaned  low,  unfastened  the  hasp,  and 
rode  on  through. 

"Oh,  VB!"  he  called,  and  from  the  cabin  came 
an  answering  hail,  a  scraping  of  chair  legs,  and 
the  young  fellow  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"How's  th'— " 

Jed  did  not  finish  the  question  then  —  or 
ever.  His  eagerness  for  the  meeting,  the  light 
of  anticipation  that  had  been  in  his  face,  dis 
appeared.  He  reined  up  his  horse  with  a  stout 
jerk,  and  for  a  long  moment  sat  there  motion 
less,  eyes  on  the  round  corral.  Then  his  shoulders 
slacked  forward  and  he  raised  a  hand  to  scratch 
his  chin  in  bewilderment. 

For  yonder,  his  nose  resting  on  one  of  the  gate 
bars,  watching  the  newcomer,  safe  in  the  inclo- 
sure,  alive,  just  as  though  he  belonged  there, 
stood  the  Captain! 

After  that  motionless  moment  Jed  turned  his 
eyes  back  to  Young  VB,  and  stared  blankly, 
almost  witlessly.  Then  he  raised  a  limp  hand 
and  half  pointed  toward  the  corral,  while  his  lips 
formed  a  soundless  question. 

VB  stepped  from  the  doorway  and  walked 
toward  Jed,  smiling. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  soft  pride,  as  though 
telling  of  a  sacred  thing,  "the  Captain  is  there  — 
in  our  corral." 


A  LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE       133 

Jed  drew  a  great  breath. 

"Did  you  do  it  —  and  alone?" 

"Well,  there  wasn't  any  one  else  about,"  VB 
replied  modestly. 

Again  Jed's  chest  heaved. 

"Well,  I 'ma—" 

He  ended  in  inarticulate  distress,  searching  for 
a  proper  expletive,  mouth  open  and  ready,  should 
he  find  one.  Then  he  was  off  his  horse,  both 
hands  on  the  boy's  shoulders,  looking  into  the 
eyes  that  met  his  so  steadily. 

"You  done  it,  Young  VB!"  he  cried  brokenly. 
"You  done  it!  Oh,  I'm  proud  of  you!  Your 
old  adopted  daddy  sure  is!  You  done  it  all  by 
yourself,  an'  it's  somethin'  that  nobody  has 
ever  been  able  to  do  before!" 

Then  they  both  laughed  aloud,  eyes  still 
clinging. 

"Come  over  and  get  acquainted,"  suggested 
VB.  "He's  waiting  for  us." 

They  started  for  the  corral,  Jed's  eyes,  now 
flaming  as  they  took  in  the  detail  of  that  won 
derful  creature,  already  seen  by  him  countless 
times,  but  now  for  the  first  time  unfree. 

The  stallion  watched  them  come,  moving  his 
feet  up  and  down  uneasily  and  peering  at  them 
between  the  bars.  VB  reached  for  the  gate 
fastening,  and  the  horse  was  away  across  the 
corral,  snorting,  head  up,  as  though  fearful. 

"Why,  Captain!"  the  boy  cried.  "What 
ails  you?" 


i34  "  —  I   CONQUERED" 

"What  ails  him?"  cried  Jed.  "Man  alive, 
I'd  expect  to  see  him  tryin'  to  tear  our  hearts 
out!" 

"Oh,  but  he's  like  a  woman!"  VB  said  softly, 
watching  the  horse  as  he  swung  the  gate  open. 

They  stepped  inside,  Jed  with  caution.  VB 
walked  straight  across  to  the  horse  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  splendid  curve  of  the  rump. 

"Well,  I'm  a—"  Again  Jed  could  find  no 
proper  word  to  express  his  astonishment.  He 
simply  took  off  his  hat  and  swung  it  in  one  hand, 
like  an  embarrassed  schoolgirl. 

"Come  over  and  meet  the  boss,  Captain," 
VB  laughed,  drawing  the  black  head  around  by 
its  heavy  forelock. 

And  the  Captain  came  —  unexpectedly.  The 
boy  realized  the  danger  with  the  first  plunge  and 
threw  his  arms  about  the  animal's  neck,  crying 
to  him  to  be  still.  And  Jed  realized,  too.  He 
slipped  outside,  putting  bars  between  himself  and 
those  savage  teeth  which  reached  out  for  his  body. 

Foiled,  the  stallion  halted. 

"Captain,"  exclaimed  VB,   "what  ails  you?" 

"To  be  sure,  nothin'  ails  him,"  said  Jed  sagely. 
"You're  his  master;  you  own  him,  body  and  soul; 
but  you  ain't  drove  th'  hate  for  men  out  of  his 
heart.     He  seems  to  love  you  —  but  not  others  — 
yes—" 

His  voice  died  out  as  he  watched  the  black 
beast  make  love  to  the  tall  young  chap  who 
scolded  into  his  dainty  ear.  The  soft,  thin  lips 


A   LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE        135 

plucked  at  VB's  clothing,  nuzzling  about  him  as 
he  stood  with  arms  clasped  around  the  glossy 
neck.  The  great  cheek  rubbed  against  the  boy's 
side  until  it  pushed  him  from  his  tracks,  though 
he  strained  playfully  against  the  pressure.  Such 
was  the  fierceness  of  that  horse's  allegiance.  His 
nostrils  fluttered,  but  no  sound  came  from  them: 
the  beast  whisperings  of  affection.  All  the  time 
VB  scolded  softly,  as  a  father  might  banter  with 
a  child.  And  when  the  boy  looked  up  a  great 
pride  was  in  his  face,  and  Jed  understood. 

"That's  right,  Young  VB  —  be  proud  of  it! 
Be  proud  that  he's  yours;  be  proud  that  he's 
yours,  an'  yours  only.  Keep  him  that  way;  to 
be  sure,  an'  you've  earned  it!" 

Then  he  stepped  close  to  the  bars  and  gazed 
at  the  animal  with  the  critical  look  of  a  con 
noisseur. 

"Not  a  hair  that  ain't  black,"  he  muttered. 
"Black  from  ankle  to  ear;  hoofs  almost  black, 
black  in  th'  nostrils.  Black  horses  generally 
have  brown  eyes,  but  you  can't  even  tell  where 
th'  pupil  is  in  his! 

"Say,  VB,  he  makes  th'  ace  of  spades  look 
like  new  snow,  don't  he?" 

"He  does  that!"  cried  VB,  and  putting  his 
hands  on  the  animal's  back,  he  leaped  lightly 
up,  sitting  sidewise  on  the  broad  hips  and  playing 
with  the  heavy  tail. 

"VB,  I'm  a—  Lord,  a  thousand  dollars  for 
a  new  oath!" 


i36  "_ I   CONQUERED" 

At  VB's  suggestion  they  started  back  to  the 
cabin. 

"Why,  boy,  you're  limpin'!"  the  old  man 
exclaimed.  "An'  in  both  legs!"  He  stopped 
and  looked  the  young  fellow  over  from  hat  to 
heel.  "One  side  of  your  face's  all  skinned. 
Looks  as  though  your  left  hand  'd  all  been  smashed 
up,  it's  that  swelled.  You  move  like  your  back 
hurt,  too  —  like  sin.  VB?" 

The  boy  stopped  and  looked  down  at  the 
ground.  Then  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  old 
rancher,  and  Jed  Avery  understood  —  he  had 
seen  the  bond  between  man  and  horse;  he  realized 
what  must  have  transpired  between  them. 

And  he  knew  the  love  that  men  can  have  for 
animals,  something  which,  if  you  have  never  felt 
it,  is  far  beyond  comprehension.  So  he  asked 
just  this  question :  ' '  How  long  ? ' ' 

And  VB  answered:  "Six  days  —  from  dawn 
till  dark.  One  to  get  a  halter  on  him,  another 
to  get  my  hand  on  his  head;  three  days  in  the 
Scotch  hobble,  and  the  last  —  to  ride  him  like 
a  hand-raised  colt." 

Jed  replaced  his  hat,  pulling  it  low  to  hide  his 
eyes. 

"Ain't  I  proud  to  be  your  daddy?"  he  whis 
pered. 

An  overwhelming  pride  —  a  pride  raised  to 
the  nth  degree,  of  the  sort  that  is  above  the 
understanding  of  most  men  —  was  in  the  tone 
timbre  of  the  question. 


A  LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE       137 

They  went  on  into  the  house. 

"Jed,"  VB  said,  as  though  he  had  waited  to 
broach  something  of  great  import,  "I've  written 
a  letter  this  morning,  and  I  want  to  read  it  to 
you,  just  to  see  how  it  sounds  out  loud." 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  drew  sheets  of  small 
tablet  paper  toward  him. 

Jed,  without  answer,  leaned  against  the  table 
and  waited.  VB  read: 

"Mv  DEAR  FATHER: 

"I  am  writing  merely  to  say  that  I  know  you  were 
right  and  I  was  wrong. 

"I  am  in  a  new  life,  where  men  do  big,  real  things 
which  justify  their  own  existence.  I  am  finding  my 
self.  I  am  getting  that  perspective  which  lets  me 
see  just  how  right  you  were  and  how  wrong  I  was. 

"Since  coming  here  I  have  done  something  real.  I 
have  captured  and  made  mine  the  wildest  horse  that 
ever  ran  these  hills.  I  am  frankly  proud  of  it.  I  may 
live  to  do  things  of  more  obvious  greatness,  but  that 
will  be  because  men  have  had  their  sense  of  values 
warped.  For  rne,  this  attainment  is  a  true  triumph. 

"I  am  now  in  the  process  of  taming  another  beast, 
more  savage  than  the  one  I  have  mastered,  and  possess 
ing  none  of  his  noble  qualities.  It  is  a  beast  not  of 
the  sort  we  can  grapple  with,  though  we  can  see  it  in 
men.  It  is  giving  me  a  hard  battle,  but  try  to  believe 
that  my  efforts  are  sincere  and,  though  it  may  take 
my  whole  lifetime,  I  am  bound  to  win  in  the  end. 

"This  letter  will  be  mailed  in  Kansas  City  by  a 
friend.  I  am  many  days'  travel  from  that  point. 
When  I  am  sure  of  the  other  victory  I  shall  let  you 
know  where  I  am. 

"Your  affectionate  son," 


i38  "— I   CONQUERED" 

He  tossed  the  sheets  back  to  the  table  top. 

"  I  'm  going  to  get  it  over  to  Ant  Creek  and  let 
some  of  the  boys  take  it  to  the  river  when  they 
go  with  beef,"  he  explained.  "Now,  how  does 
it  sound?" 

"Fine,  VB,  fine!"  Jed  muttered,  rubbing  one 
cheek.  "To  be  sure,  it  ain't  so  much  what  you 
say  as  th'  way  you  say  it  —  makin'  a  party  feel 
as  though  you  meant  it  from  th'  bottom  of  your 
feet  to  th'  tip  of  th'  longest  hair  on  your  head!" 

"Well,  Jed,  I  do  mean  it  just  that  way.  That 
horse  out  there  —  he  —  he  stands  for  so  much 
now.  He  stands  for  everything  I  have  n't  been, 
and  for  all  that  I  want  to  be.  He  ran  free  as  the 
birds,  but  it  could  n't  always  be  so.  He  had  to 
succumb,  had  to  give  up  that  sort  of  liberty. 

"I  took  his  power  from  him,  made  him  my 
own,  made  him  my  servant.  Yet  it  did  n't 
scathe  his  spirit.  It  has  changed  all  that  bitter 
ness  into  love,  all  that  wasted  energy  into  doing 
something  useful.  I  didn't  break  him,  Jed;  I 
converted  him.  Understand?" 

' '  I  do,  VB ;  but  we  won't  convert  this  here  other 
beast.  We'll  bust  him  wide  open,  won't  we? 
Break  him,  body  an'  spirit!" 

The  boy  smiled  wanly. 

"That's  what  we're  trying  to  do." 

He  pointed  to  the  candle  in  its  daubed  bottle. 

"Just  to  keep  the  light  burning,  Jed  —  just 
to  keep  its  light  fighting  back  the  darkness.  The 
little  flame  of  that  candle  breaks  the  power  of 


A  LETTER  AND  A  NARRATIVE        139 

the  black  thing  which  would  shut  it  in  —  like  a 
heart  being  good  and  true  in  spite  of  the  rotten 
body  in  which  it  beats.  And  when  my  body 
commences  to  want  the  old  things  —  to  want 
them,  oh,  so  badly  —  I  just  think  of  this  little 
candle  here,  calm  and  quiet  and  steady,  stick 
ing  out  of  what  was  once  a  cesspool,  a  poison 
pot,  and  making  a  place  in  the  night  where  men 
can  see." 

While  a  hundred  could  have  been  counted 
slowly  they  remained  motionless,  quiet,  not  a 
sound  breaking  the  silence. 

Then  Jed  began  talking  in  a  half-tone: 

"I  know,  Young  VB;  I  know.  You've  got 
time  now  to  light  it  and  nurse  th'  flame  up  so's 
it  won't  need  watchin'  —  an'  not  miss  things  that 
go  by  in  th'  dark.  Some  of  us  puts  it  off  too 
long  —  like  a  man  I  know  —  now.  I  did  n't 
know  him  then  —  when  it  happened.  He  was 
wanderin'  around  in  a  night  that  never  turned  to 
day,  thinkin'  he  knowed  where  he  was  goin', 
but  all  th'  time  just  bein'  fooled  by  th'  dark. 

"And  there  was  a  girl  back  in  Kansas.  He 
started  after  her,  but  it  was  so  dark  he  could  n't 
find  th'  way,  an'  when  he  did  — 

"Some  folks  is  fools  enough  to  say  women 
don't  die  of  broken  hearts.  But  —  well,  when  a 
feller  knows  some  things  he  wants  to  go  tell  'em 
to  men  who  don't  know;  to  help  'em  to  under 
stand,  if  he  can ;  to  give  'em  a  hand  if  they  do  see 
but  can't  find  their  way  out — " 


i4o  "__I  CONQUERED" 

He  stopped,  staring  at  the  floor.  VB  had  no 
cause  to  search  for  identities. 

From  the  corral  came  a  shrill,  prolonged  neigh 
ing.  VB  arose  and  laid  a  hand  gently  on  Jed's 
bowed  shoulder. 

"That's  the  Captain,"  he  said  solemnly;  "and 
he  calls  me  when  he's  thirsty." 

While  he  was  gone  Jed  remained  as  he  had 
been  left,  staring  at  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WOMAN  WANTS 

GAIL  THORPE  rose  from  the  piano  in  the 
big  ranch  house  of  the  S  Bar  S,  rearranged 
the  mountain  flowers  that  filled  a  vase  on  a 
tabouret,  then  knocked  slowly,  firmly,  command- 
ingly,  on  a  door  that  led  from  the  living  room. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  you;  but  I  s'pose  you 
might  as  well  come  in  and  get  it  off  your  mind!" 

The  voice  from  the  other  side  spoke  in  feigned 
annoyance.  It  continued  to  grumble  until  a 
lithe  figure,  topped  by  a  mass  of  hair  like  pulled 
sunshine,  flung  itself  at  him,  twining  warm  arms 
about  his  neck  and  kissing  the  words  from  the 
lips  of  big  Bob  Thorpe  as  he  sat  before  his  desk 
in  the  room  that  served  as  the  ranch  office. 

"Will  you  ever  say  it  again  —  that  you  don't 
want  me?"  she  demanded. 

"No  —  but  merely  because  I'm  intimidated 
into  promising,"  he  answered.  His  big  arms  went 
tight  about  the  slender  body  and  he  pulled  his 
daughter  up  on  his  lap. 

A  silence,  while  she  fussed  with  his  necktie. 
Her  blue  eyes  looked  into  his  gray  ones  a  moment 
as  though  absently,  then  back  to  the  necktie. 
Her  fingers  fell  idle;  her  head  snuggled  against 
his  neck.  Bob  Thorpe  laughed  loud  and  long. 

141 


i42  "_I   CONQUERED" 

"Well,  what  is  it  this  morning?"  he  asked 
between  chuckles. 

The  girl  sat  up  suddenly,  pushed  back  the  hair 
that  defied  fastenings,  and  tapped  a  stretched 
palm  with  the  stiff  forefinger  of  the  other  hand. 

"I'm  not  a  Western  girl,"  she  declared  delib 
erately;  and  then,  as  the  brown  face  before  her 
clouded,  hastened:  "Oh,  I'm  not  wanting  to  go 
away!  I  mean,  I'm  not  truly  a  Western  girl, 
but  I  want  to  be.  I  want  to  fit  better. 

"When  we  decided  that  I  should  graduate  and 
come  back  here  with  my  mommy  and  daddy  for 
the  rest  of  my  life,  I  decided.  There  was  nothing 
halfway  about  it.  Some  of  the  other  girls 
thought  it  awful;  but  I  don't  see  the  attraction 
in  their  way  of  living. 

"When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  was  a  sort  of  torn- 
cow-boy.  I  could  do  things  as  well  as  any  of  the 
boys  I  ever  knew  could  do  them.  But  after 
ten  years,  mostly  away  in  the  East,  where  girls 
are  like  plants,  I've  lost  it  all.  Now  I  want  to 
get  it  back." 

"Well,  go  to  it!" 

"Wait!  I  want  to  start  well  —  high  up.  I 
want  to  have  the  best  that  there  is  to  have. 
I  —  want  —  a  —  horse ! " 

"Horse?  Bless  me,  bambino,  there  are  fifty 
broken  horses  running  in  the  back  pasture  now, 
besides  what  the  boys  have  on  the  ride.  Take 
your  pick!" 

"Oh,  I  know!"  she  said  with  gentle  scoffing. 


WOMAN   WANTS  143 

"That  sort  of  a  horse  —  just  cow-ponies.  I  love 
'em,  but  I  guess  —  well  — 

"You've  been  educated  away  from  'em,  you 
mei  n?"  he  chuckled. 

"Well,  whatever  it  is  —  I  want  something 
better.  I,  as  a  daughter  of  the  biggest,  best  man 
in  Colorado,  want  to  ride  the  best  animal  that 
ever  felt  a  cinch." 

"Well?" 

"And  I  want  to  have  him  now,  so  I  can  get 
used  to  him  this  fall  and  look  forward  to  coming 
back  to  him  in  the  spring." 

Bob  Thorpe  took  both  her  hands  in  one  of  his. 

"And  if  a  thing  like  that  will  make  my  bambino 
happy,  I  guess  she'll  have  it." 

The  girl  kissed  him  and  held  her  cheek  close 
against  his  for  a  breath. 

"When  I  go  to  Denver  for  the  stock  show  I'll 
pick  the  best  blue  ribbon  — 

"Denver!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly,  sitting 
straight  and  tossing  her  head.  "I  want  a  real 
horse  —  a  horse  bred  and  raised  in  these  moun 
tains  —  a  horse  I  can  trust.  None  of  your  blue- 
blooded  stock.  They're  like  the  girls  I  went  to 
college  with!" 

Bob  Thorpe  let  his  laughter  roll  out. 

""Well,  what  do  you  expect  to  find  around  here? 
Have  you  seen  anything  you  like?" 

She  pulled  her  hands  from  his  grasp  and 
stretched  his  mouth  out  of  shape  with  her  little 
fingers  until  he  squirmed. 


144  "—I   CONQUERED" 

"No,  I  haven't  seen  him;  but  I've  heard  the 
cowboys  talking.  Over  at  Mr.  Avery's  ranch 
they've  caught  a  black  horse  — " 

Bob  Thorpe  set  her  suddenly  up  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair  and  shook  her  soundly. 

"Look  here,  young  lady!"  he  exclaimed. 
"You're  dreaming!  I  know  what  horse  you're 
talking  about.  He's  a  wild  devil  that  has  run 
these  hills  for  years.  I  heard  he'd  been  caught. 
Get  the  notion  of  having  him  out  of  your  head. 
I've  never  seen  him  but  once,  and  then  he  was 
away  off;  but  I've  heard  tales  of  him.  Why  - 

"Nonsense!  In  the  first  place,  he  couldn't 
be  broken  to  ride.  Men  are  n't  made  big  enough 
to  break  the  spirit  of  a  devil  like  that!  They're 
bigger  than  humans.  So  we  can  end  this  d:3- 
cussion  in  peace.  It's  impossible!" 

"All  right,"  Gail  said  sweetly.  "I  just  let 
you  go  on  and  get  yourself  into  a  corner.  You 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  He  has 
been  ridden.  So  there!  I  want  him!" 

He  thrust  her  to  one  side,  rose,  and  com 
menced  to  pace  the  room,  gesticulating  wildly. 
But  it  all  came  to  the  invariable  end  of  such 
discussions,  and  twenty  minutes  later  Gail  Thorpe, 
her  smoking,  smiling  dad  at  her  side,  piloted  the 
big  touring  car  down  the  road,  bound  for  Jed 
Avery's  ranch. 

Young  VB  sat  on  a  box  behind  the  cabin  work 
ing  with  a  boot-heel  that  insisted  on  running  over. 


WOMAN   WANTS  145 

He  lifted  the  boot,  held  it  before  his  face,  and 
squinted  one  eye  to  sight  the  effect  of  his  work  — 
then  started  at  a  cry  from  the  road. 

The  boot  still  in  his  hands,  VB  stopped  squint 
ing  to  listen.  Undoubtedly  whoever  it  was 
wanted  Jed;  but  Jed  was  away  with  the  horse 
buyer,  looking  over  his  young  stuff.  So  Young 
VB,  boot  in  hand,  its  foot  clad  in  a  service- worn 
sock,  made  his  uneven  way  around  the  house 
to  make  any  necessary  explanations. 

"That  must  be  he!" 

The  light,  high  voice  of  the  girl  gave  the  cry 
just  as  VB  turned  the  corner  and  came  in  sight, 
and  her  hand,  half  extended  to  point  toward 
the  corral,  pointed  directly  into  the  face  of  the 
young  man. 

He  did  not  hear  what  she  had  said,  did  not 
venture  a  greeting.  He  merely  stood  and  stared 
at  her,  utterly  without  poise.  In  a  crimson  flash 
he  realized  that  this  was  Gail  Thorpe,  that  she 
was  pretty,  and  that  his  bootless  foot  was  covered 
by  a  sock  that  had  given  way  before  the  stress 
of  walking  in  high  heels,  allowing  his  great  toe, 
with  two  of  its  lesser  conspirators,  to  protrude. 
To  his  confusion,  those  toes  seemed  to  be  swelling 
and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  make  them  do 
nothing  but  stand  stiffly  in  the  air  almost  at 
right  angles  with  the  foot. 

His  breeding  cried  out  for  a  retreat,  for  a  leap 
into  shelter;  but  his  wits  had  lost  all  grace. 
He  lifted  the  half -naked  foot  and  carefully  brushed 

10 


i46  "_I   CONQUERED" 

the  dirt  from  the  sock.  Then,  leaning  a  shoulder 
against  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  he  drew  the  boot 
on.  Stamping  it  to  the  ground  to  settle  his  foot 
into  place,  he  said,  "Good  morning,"  weakly  and 
devoid  of  heartiness. 

Bob  Thorpe  had  not  noticed  this  confusion,  for 
his  eyes  were  on  the  corral.  But  Gail,  a  peculiar 
twinkle  in  her  eyes,  had  seen  it  all  —  and  with 
quick  intuition  knew  that  it  was  something  more 
than  the  embarrassment  of  a  cow-puncher  —  and 
struggled  to  suppress  her  smiles. 

"Good  afternoon,"  Thorpe  corrected.  "Jed 
here?" 

"No;  he's  riding,"  VB  answered. 

The  cattleman  moved  a  pace  to  the  left  and 
tilted  his  head  to  see  better  the  Captain,  who 
stormed  around  and  around  the  corral,  raising 
a  great  dust. 

"We  came  over  to  look  at  a  horse  I  heard  was 
here  —  this  one,  I  guess.  Is  n't  he  the  wild 
stallion?" 

"Used  to  be  wild." 

' '  He  looks  it  yet.  Watch  him  plunge ! ' '  Thorpe 
cried. 

"He's  never  seen  an  automobile  before,"  VB 
explained,  as  the  three  moved  nearer  the  corral. 

The  horse  was  frightened.  He  quivered  when 
he  stood  in  one  place,  and  the  quivering  always 
grew  more  violent  until  it  ended  in  a  plunge. 
He  rose  to  his  hind  legs,  head  always  toward 
the  car,  and  pawed  the  air;  then  settled  back  and 


WOMAN  WANTS  147 

ran  to  the  far  side  of  the  inclosure,  with  eyes 
for  nothing  but  that  machine. 

They  halted  by  the  bars,  Thorpe  and  his 
daughter  standing  close  together,  Young  VB 
nearer  the  gate.  The  boy  said  something  to  the 
horse  and  laughed  softly. 

''Why,  look,  daddy,"  the  girl  cried,  "he's 
beginning  to  calm  down!" 

The  Captain  stopped  his  antics  and,  still 
trembling,  moved  gingerly  to  the  bars.  Twice 
he  threw  up  his  head,  looked  at  the  machine,  and 
breathed  loudly,  and  once  a  quick  tremor  ran 
through  his  fine  limbs,  but  the  terror  was  no 
longer  on  him. 

Bob  Thorpe  turned  a  slow  gaze  on  VB.  The 
girl  stood  with  lips  parted.  A  flush  came  under 
her  fine  skin  and  she  clasped  her  hands  at  her 
breast. 

"Oh,  daddy,  what  a  horse!"  she  breathed. 

And  Bob  Thorpe  echoed:  "Lord,  what  a 
horse!  Anybody  tried  to  ride  him?"  he  asked 
a  moment  later. 

"He  gets  work  every  day,"  VB  answered. 

' '  Work  ?     Don't  tell  me  you  work  that  animal ! ' ' 

The  young  chap  nodded.  "Yes;  he  works 
right  along." 

The  Captain  snorted  oudly  and  tore  away  in 
a  proud  circle  of  the  corral,  as  though  to  flaunt 
his  graces. 

"Oh,  daddy,  it  took  a  man  to  break  that 
animal!"  the  girl  breathed. 


i48  "_ I  CONQUERED" 

The  bronze  of  VB's  face  darkened,  then  paled. 
He  turned  a  steady  look  on  the  sunny- haired 
woman,  and  the  full  thanks  that  swelled  in  his 
throat  almost  found  words.  He  wanted  to  cry 
out  to  her,  to  tell  her  what  such  things  meant; 
for  she  was  of  his  sort,  highly  bred,  capable  of 
understanding.  And  he  found  himself  thinking: 
"You  are!  You  are!  You're  as  I  thought  you 
must  be!" 

Then  he  felt  Thorpe  s  gaze  and  turned  to  meet 
it,  a  trifle  guiltily. 

"Yours?"  the  man  asked. 

"Mine." 

Thorpe  turned  back  to  the  Captain.  Gail 
drew  a  quick  breath  and  turned  away  from  him 
—  to  the  man. 

"I  thought  so  when  he  commenced  to  quiet," 
muttered  Thorpe. 

He  looked  then  at  his  daughter  and  found  her 
standing  still,  hands  clasped,  lips  the  least  trifle 
parted,  gazing  at  Young  VB. 

Something  in  him  urged  a  quick  step  forward. 
It  was  an  alarm,  something  primal  in  the  fathers 
of  women.  But  Bob  Thorpe  put  the  notion 
aside  as  foolishness  —  or  tenderness  —  and  walked 
closer  to  the  corral,  chewing  his  cigar  specula- 
tively.  The  stallion  wrinkled  his  nose  and 
dropped  the  ears  flat,  the  orange  glimmer  coming 
into  his  eyes. 

"Don't  like  strangers,  I  see." 

"Not  crazy  about  them,"  VB  answered. 


WOMAN  WANTS  149 

Thorpe  walked  off  to  the  left,  then  came  back. 
He  removed  his  cigar  and  looked  at  Gail.  She 
fussed  with  her  rebellious  hair  and  her  face  was 
flushed ;  she  no  longer  looked  at  the  horse  —  or 
at  VB.  He  felt  a  curiosity  about  that  flush. 

"Well,  want  to  get  rid  of  him?" 

Thorpe  hooked  his  thumbs  in  his  vest  arm- 
holes  and  confronted  VB. 

No  answer. 

"What  do  you  want  for  him?" 

The  young  fellow  started. 

' '  What  ? "  he  said  in  surprise.  ' '  I  was  thinking. 
I  did  n't  catch  your  question." 

The  fact  was,  he  had  heard,  but  had  distrusted 
the  sense.  The  idea  of  men  offering  money  for 
the  Captain  had  never  occurred  to  him. 

"What  do  you  want  for  him?" 

VB  smiled. 

"What  do  I  want  for  him?"  he  repeated.  "I 
want  —  feed  and  water  for  the  rest  of  his  life; 
shelter  when  he  needs  it;  the  will  to  treat  him  as 
he  should  be  treated.  And  I  guess  that's  about 
all." 

The  other  again  removed  his  cigar,  and  his 
jaw  dropped.  A  cow-puncher  talking  so!  He 
could  not  believe  it ;  and  the  idea  so  confused  him 
that  he  blundered  right  on  with  the  bargaining. 
"Five  hundred?  Seven-fifty?  No?  Well,  how 
much?" 

VB  smiled  again,  just  an  indulgent  smile 
prompted  by  the  knowledge  that  he  possessed  a 


i5o  "_I  CONQUERED" 

thing  beyond  the  power  of  even  this  man's  wealth. 

"The  Captain  is  not  for  sale,"  he  said.  ''Not 
to-day  —  or  ever.  That 's  final. ' ' 

There  was  more  talk,  but  all  the  kindly  bluff- 
ness,  all  the  desire  instinctive  in  Bob  Thorpe  to 
give  the  other  man  an  even  break  in  the  bargain, 
fell  flat.  This  stranger,  this  thirty-five-dollar-a- 
month  ranch  hand,  shed  his  offers  as  a  tin  roof 
sheds  rain  and  with  a  self-possession  characterized 
by  unmistakable  assurance. 

"Tell  Jed  I  was  over,"  the  big  man  said  as  they 
gave  up  their  errand  and  turned  to  go.  "And" 
—  as  he  set  a  foot  on  the  running  board  of  his 
car-  "any  time  you're  our  way  drop  in." 

"Yes,  do!"  added  the  girl,  and  her  father  could 
not  check  the  impulse  which  made  him  turn 
halfway  as  though  to  shut  her  off. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

VB  FIGHTS 

JED  returned  that  evening,  worn  by  a  hard 
day's  riding.  He  was  silent.  VB,  too,  was 
quiet  and  they  spoke  little  until  the  housework 
was  finished  and  Jed  had  drawn  off  his  boots 
preparatory  to  turning  in. 

Then  VB  said :    ' '  Bob  Thorpe  was  over  to-day. ' ' 

"So?" 

"Uh-huh;  wanted  to  buy  the  Captain." 

After  a  pause  Jed  commented:  "That's  nat 
ural." 

"Wanted  me  to  give  you  the  good  word." 

The  old  man  walked  through  the  doorway 
into  the  little  bunk  room  and  VB  heard  him  flop 
into  the  crude  bed. 

A  short  interval  of  silence. 

"Jed,"  called  VB,  "ever  hear  where  his  daughter 
went  to  school?" 

A  long  yawn.     Then: 

"Yep  —  don't  remember." 

Another  pause. 

"She  was  over,  too." 

"Oh-ho-o-o!" 

The  boy  felt  himself  flushing,  and  then  sat  bolt 
upright,  wondering  soberly  and  seriously  why  it 
should  be  so  —  without  reason. 


i52  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Young  VB  slept  restlessly  that  night.  He 
tossed  and  dreamed,  waking  frequently  under  a 
sense  of  nervous  tension,  then  falling  back  to 
half-slumber  once  more.  Thorpe  came,  and  his 
daughter,  offering  fabulous  sums  for  the  Captain, 
which  were  stubbornly  refused. 

Then,  shouting  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  the  girl 
cried: 

"But  I  will  give  you  kisses  for  him!  Surely 
that  is  enough!" 

And  VB  came  back  to  himself,  sitting  up  in 
bed  and  wadding  the  blankets  in  his  hands.  He 
blinked  in  the  darkness  and  herded  his  scattered 
senses  with  difficulty.  Then  the  hands  left  off 
twisting  the  covers  and  went  slowly  to  his  throat. 
For  the  thirst  was  on  him  and  in  the  morning  he 
rose  in  the  grip  of  the  same  stifling  desire,  and  his 
quavering  hands  spilled  things  as  he  ate. 

Jed  noticed,  but  made  no  comment.  When 
the  meal  was  finished  he  said: 

"S'pose  I  could  get  you  to  crawl  up  on  the 
Captain  an'  take  a  shoot  up  Curley  Gulch  with 
an  eye  out  for  that  black  mare  an'  her  yearlin'?" 

VB  was  glad  to  be  alone  with  his  horse,  and  as 
he  walked  to  the  corral,  his  bridle  over  his  arm, 
he  felt  as  though,  much  as  Jed  could  help  him,  he 
could  never  bring  the  inspiration  which  the  black 
beast  offered. 

He  opened  the  gate  and  let  it  swing  wide. 
The  Captain  came  across  to  him  with  soft 
nickelings,  deserting  the  alfalfa  he  was  munching. 


VB   FIGHTS  153 

He  thrust  his  muzzle  into  the  crook  of  VB's 
elbow,  and  the  arm  tightened  on  it  desperately, 
while  the  other  hand  went  up  to  twine  fingers 
in  the  luxurious  mane. 

"Oh,  Captain!"  he  muttered,  putting  his  face 
close  to  the  animal's  cheek.  "You  know  what 
it  is  to  fight  for  yourself !  You  know  —  but  where 
you  found  love  and  help  when  you  lost  that 
fight,  I  'd  find  —  just  blackness  —  without  even 
a  candle  — 

The  stallion  moved  closer,  shoving  with  his 
head  until  he  forced  VB  out  of  the  corral.  Then 
with  his  teasing  lips  he  sought  the  bridle. 

"You  seem  to  understand!"  the  man  cried, 
his  tired  eyes  lighting.  "You  seem  to  know 
what  I  need!" 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  rushing  through  the 
early  morning  air  up  the  gulch,  the  Captain 
bearing  him  along  with  that  free,  firm,  faultless 
stride  that  had  swept  him  over  those  mountains 
for  so  many  long,  unmolested  years. 

Throughout  the  forenoon  they  rode  hard. 
VB  looked  for  the  mare  and  colt,  but  the  search 
did  not  command  much  of  his  attention. 

"Why  can't  I  turn  all  this  longing  into  some 
thing  useful?"  he  asked  the  horse.  "Your  lust 
for  freedom  has  come  to  this  end;  why  can't  my 
impulses  to  be  a  wild  beast  be  driven  into  another 
path?" 

And  the  Captain  made  answer  by  bending  his 
superb  head  and  lipping  VB's  chap-clad  knee. 


154  "—I   CONQUERED" 

The  quest  was  fruitless,  and  an  hour  before 
noon  VB  turned  back  toward  the  ranch,  making 
a  short  cut  across  the  hills.  In  one  of  the  gulches 
the  Captain  nickered  softly  and  increased  his 
trotting.  VB  let  him  go,  unconscious  of  his 
brisker  movement,  for  the  calling  in  his  throat 
had  risen  to  a  clamor.  The  horse  stopped  and 
lowered  his  head,  drinking  from  a  hole  into 
which  crystal  water  seeped. 

The  man  dropped  off  and  flopped  on  his  stom 
ach,  thrusting  his  face  into  the  pool  close  to  the 
nose  of  the  greedily  drinking  stallion.  He  took 
the  water  in  great  gulps.  It  was  cold,  as  cold  as 
spring  water  can  be,  yet  it  was  as  nothing  against 
the  fire  within  him. 

The  Captain,  raising  his  head  quickly,  caught 
his  breath  with  a  grunt,  dragging  the  air  deep 
into  his  great  lungs  and  exhaling  slowly,  loudly, 
as  he  gazed  off  down  the  gulch;  then  he  chewed 
briskly  on  the  bit  and  thrust  his  nose  again  into 
the  spring. 

VB's  arm  stole  up  and  dropped  over  the  horse's 
head. 

"Oh,  boy,  you  know  what  one  kind  of  thirst 
is,"  he  said  in  a  whisper.  "But  there's  another 
kind  that  this  stuff  won't  quench!  The  thirst 
that  comes  from  being  in  blackness  — ' 

They  went  on,  dropped  off  a  point,  and  made 
for  the  fiat  little  buildings  of  the  ranch.  As  he 
approached,  VB  saw  three  saddled  horses  standing 


VB   FIGHTS  155 

before  the  house,  none  of  which  was  Jed's  prop 
erty.  Nothing  strange  in  that,  however,  for  one 
man's  home  is  another's  shelter  in  that  country, 
whether  the  owner  be  on  the  ground  or  not,  and 
to  VB  the  thought  of  visitors  brought  relief. 
Contact  with  others  might  joggle  him  from  his 
mood. 

He  left  the  Captain,  saddled,  at  the  corral  gate, 
bridle  reins  down,  and  he  knew  that  the  horse 
would  not  budge  so  much  as  a  step  until  told  to 
do  so.  Then  he  swung  over  toward  the  house, 
heels  scuffing  the  hard  dirt,  spurs  jingling.  At 
the  threshold  he  walked  squarely  into  the  man 
Rhues. 

The  recognition  was  a  distinct  shock.  He 
stepped  backward  a  pace  —  recoiled  rather,  for 
the  movement  was  as  from  a  thing  he  detested. 
Into  his  mind  crowded  every  detail  of  his  former 
encounters  with  this  fellow;  in  the  Anchor  bunk 
house  and  across  the  road  from  the  saloon  in 
Ranger.  They  came  back  vividly  —  the  expres 
sion  of  faces,  lights  and  shadows,  even  odors, 
and  the  calling  in  him  for  the  help  that  throttles 
became  agonizing. 

Rhues  misconstrued  his  emotion.  His  judg 
ment  was  warped  by  the  spirit  of  the  bully,  and 
he  thought  this  man  feared  him.  He  remem 
bered  that  defiant  interchange  of  questions,  and 
the  laugh  that  went  to  VB  on  their  first  meeting. 
He  nursed  the  rankling  memory.  He  had  told 
it  about  that  Avery's  tenderfoot  was  afraid  to 


156  "—I  CONQUERED" 

take  a  drink  —  speaking  greater  truth  than  he  was 
aware  —  but  his  motive  had  been  to  discredit 
VB  in  the  eyes  of  the  countrymen,  for  he  belonged 
to  that  ilk  who  see  in  debauchery  the  mark  of 
manhood. 

Coming  now  upon  the  man  he  had  chosen  to 
persecute,  and  reading  fear  in  VB's  eyes,  Rhues 
was  made  crudely  happy. 

"You  don't  appear  to  be  overglad  to  see  us," 
he  drawled. 

VB  glanced  into  the  room.  A  Mexican  sat 
on  the  table,  smoking  and  swinging  his  legs;  a 
white  man  he  remembered  having  seen  in  Ranger 
stood  behind  Rhues.  Jed  was  nowhere  about. 
He  looked  back  at  the  snaky  leer  in  those  half- 
opened  green  eyes,  and  a  rage  went  boiling  into 
his  brain.  The  unmistakable  challenge  which 
came  from  this  bully  was  of  the  sort  that  strips 
from  men  civilization's  veneer. 

"You've  gessed  it,"  he  said  calmly.  "I  don't 
know  why  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you.  These 
others"  —  he  motioned  —  "are  strangers  to  me." 

Then  he  stepped  past  Rhues  into  the  room. 

The  man  grinned  at  him  as  he  tossed  his  hat 
to  a  chair  and  unbuckled  the  leather  cuffs. 

"But  that  makes  no  difference,"  he  went  on. 
"Jed  is  n't  here.  It's  meal  time,  and  if  you  men 
want  to  eat  I'll  build  a  big  enough  dinner." 

Rhues  laughed,  and  the  mockery  in  his  tone 
was  of  the  kind  that  makes  the  biggest  of  men 
forget  they  can  be  above  insult. 


VB   FIGHTS  157 

"We  did  n't  come  here  to  eat,"  he  said.  "We 
come  up  to  see  a  horse  we  heerd  about — th' 
Captain.  We  heerd  Jed  caught  him." 

VB  started.  The  thought  of  Rhues  inspecting 
the  stallion,  commenting  on  him,  admiring  him,  was 
as  repulsive  to  Young  VB  as  would  be  the  thought 
to  a  lover  of  a  vile  human  commenting  vulgarly 
on  the  sacred  body  of  the  woman  of  women. 

The  Mexican  strolled  out  of  the  house  as  VB, 
turning  to  the  stove,  tried  to  ignore  the  explana 
tion  of  their  presence.  He  walked  on  toward  the 
ponies.  A  dozen  steps  from  the  house  he  stopped, 
and  called: 

"Por  Dios,  hombre!" 

Rhues  and  the  other  followed  him,  and  VB  saw 
them  stand  together,  staring  in  amazement  at 
the  Captain.  Then  they  moved  toward  the  great 
horse,  talking  to  one  another  and  laughing. 

VB  followed,  with  a  feeling  of  indignation. 
The  trio  advanced,  quickening  their  pace. 

"Hold  on!"  he  cried  in  sudden  alarm.  "Don't 
go  too  near;  he's  dangerous!" 

Already  the  Captain  had  flattened  his  ears, 
and  as  VB  ran  out  he  could  see  the  nose  wrinkling, 
the  lips  drawing  back. 

"What's  got  into  you?"  demanded  Rhues, 
turning,  while  the  Mexican  laughed  jeeringly.  "I 
guess  if  you  can  ride  him  a  man  can  git  up  clost 
without  gittin'  chawed  up!  Remember,  young 
kid,  we've  been  workin'  with  hosses  sence  you 
was  suckin'  yer  thumb." 


i S8  "— I   CONQUERED" 

The  others  laughed  again,  but  VB  gave  no  heed. 
He  was  seeing  red  again ;  reason  had  gone  —  either 
reason  or  the  coating  of  conventions. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  stand  away  from  him 
because  of  danger,  you'll  do  it  because  I  say  so!" 
he  muttered. 

"O-ho,  an'  that's  it!"  laughed  Rhues,  walking 
on. 

VB  passed  him  and  approached  the  Captain 
and  took  his  bridle. 

"Be  still,  boy,"  he  murmured.  "Stand  where 
you  are." 

He  stroked  the  nose,  and  the  wrinkles  left  it. 

Rhues  laughed  again  harshly. 

"Well,  that's  a  fine  kind  o'  buggy  horse!"  he 
jeered.  "Let  a  tenderfoot  come  up  an'  steal 
all  th'  man-eatin'  fire  outen  him!" 

He  laughed  again  and  the  others  joined.  The 
Mexican  said  something  in  Spanish. 

"Yah,"  assented  Rhues.  "I  thought  we  was 
comin'  to  see  a  hoss  —  th'  kind  o'  nag  this  feller 
pertended  to  be.  But  now  —  look  at  him !  He 's 
just  a  low-down 

VB  sprang  toward  him. 

' '  You  -  '  he  breathed,  ' '  you  —  you  hound ! 
Why,  you  are  n't  fit  to  come  into  sight  of  this 
horse.  You  —  you  apologize  to  that  horse!"  he 
demanded,  and  even  through  his  molten  rage  the 
words  sounded  unutterably  silly. 

Yet  he  went  on,  fists  clenched,  carried  beyond 
reason  or  balance  by  the  instinctive  hate  for 


VB   FIGHTS  159 

this  man  and  love  for  the  black  animal  behind  him. 

Rhues  laughed  again. 

"Who  says  so,  besides  you,  you .  Why, 

you  ain't  no  more  man'n  that  hoss  is  hoss!" 

He  saw  then  that  he  had  reckoned  poorly. 
The  greenhorn,  the  boy  who  cowered  at  the 
thought  of  a  man's  dissipation,  had  disappeared, 
and  in  his  stead  stood  a  quivering  young  animal, 
poising  for  a  pounce. 

Being  a  bully,  Rhues  was  a  coward.  So  when 
VB  sprang,  and  he  knew  conflict  was  unavoidable, 
his  right  hand  whipped  back.  The  ringers  closed 
on  the  handle  of  his  automatic  as  VB  made 
the  first  step.  They  made  their  hold  secure  as  the 
Easterner's  arm  drew  back.  They  yanked  at 
the  gun  as  that  fist  shot  out. 

It  was  a  good  blow,  a  clean  blow,  a  full  blow 
right  on  the  point  of  the  chin,  and,  quickly  as  it 
had  been  delivered,  the  right  was  back  in  an 
instinctive  guard  and  the  left  had  rapped  out  hard 
on  the  snarling  mouth.  Rhues  went  backward 
and  down,  unbalanced  by  the  first  shock,  crushed 
by  the  second;  and  the  third,  a  repeated  jab  of 
the  left,  caught  him  behind  the  ear  and  stretched 
him  helpless  in  the  dust. 

His  fingers  relaxed  their  hold  on  the  gun  that 
he  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  use,  so  lightning- 
like  was  the  attack  from  this  individual  he  had 
dubbed  a  "kid."  VB  stepped  over  the  pros 
trate  form,  put  his  toe  under  the  revolver,  and 
flipped  it  a  dozen  yards  away. 


160  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Then  Jed  A  very  pulled  up  his  horse  in  a  shower 
of  dust,  and  VB,  his  rage  choking  down  words, 
turned  to  lead  the  Captain  into  the  corral.  The 
animal  nosed  him  fiercely  and  pulled  back  to  look 
at  Rhues,  who,  under  the  crude  ministrations  of 
his  two  companions,  had  taken  on  a  semblance 
of  life. 

A  moment  later  VB  returned  from  the  inclosure, 
bearing  his  riding  equipment.  He  said  to  Jed: 
"This  man  insulted  the  Captain.  I  had  to  whip 
him."  Then  he  walked  to  the  wagon  shed, 
dropped  his  saddle  in  its  shelter,  and  came  back. 

Rhues  sat  up  and,  as  VB  approached,  got  to  his 
feet.  He  lurched  forward  as  if  to  rush  his  enemy, 
but  the  Mexican  caught  him  and  held  him  back. 

VB  stood,  hands  on  hips,  and  glared  at  him. 
He  said:  "No,  I  wouldn't  come  again  if  I  were 
you.  I  don't  want  to  have  to  smash  you  again. 
I  'd  enjoy  it  in  a  way,  but  when  a  man  is  knocked 
out  he's  whipped  —  in  my  country  —  judged  by 
the  standards  we  set  there. 

"You're  a  coward,  Rhues  —  a  dirty,  sneaking, 
low-down  coward!  Every  gun-man  is  a  coward. 
It's  no  way  to  settle  disputes  —  gun  righting." 

He  glared  at  the  fellow  before  him,  who  swore 
under  his  breath  but  who  could  not  summon  the 
courage  to  strike. 

"You're  a  coward,  and  I  hope  I've  impressed 
that  on  you,"  VB  went  on,  "and  you'll  take  a 
coward's  advantage.  Hereafter  I'm  going  to 
carry  a  gun.  You  won't  fight  in  my  way  because 


VB   FIGHTS  161 

you  're  not  a  man,  so  I  '11  have  to  be  prepared  for 
you  in  your  way.  I  just  want  to  let  you  know 
that  I  understand  your  breed!  That's  all. 

"Don't  start  anything,  because  I'll  fight  in 
two  ways  hereafter  —  in  my  way  and  in  yours. 
And  that  goes  for  you  other  two.  If  you  run 
with  this  —  this  thing,  it  marks  you.  I  know 
what  would  have  happened  if  Jed  had  n't  come 
up.  You'd  have  killed  me!  That's  the  sort 
you  are.  Remember  —  all  three  of  you  —  I  'm 
not  afraid,  but  it's  a  case  of  fighting  fire  with 
fire.  I'll  be  ready." 

Rhues  stood,  as  though  waiting  for  more. 

When  VB  did  not  go  on  he  said,  just  above  a 
whisper :  ' ' I'll  get  you  —  yet ! ' ' 

And  VB  answered,  "Then  I  guess  we  all  under 
stand  one  another." 

When  the  three  had  ridden  away  Jed  shoved 
his  Colt  tight  into  its  holster  again  and  looked 
at  the  young  chap  with  foreboding. 

"There  '11  be  trouble,  VB ;  they  're  bad,"  he  said. 
"He's  a  coward.  The  story '11  go  round  an'  he'll 
try  to  get  you  harder  'n  ever.  If  he  don't, 
those  others  will  —  will  try,  I  mean.  Matson  and 
Julio  are  every  bit  as  bad  as  Rhues,  but  they 
ain't  quite  got  his  fool  nerve. 

"They're  a  thievin'  bunch,  though  it  ain't 
never  been  proved.  Nobody  trusts  'em;  most 
men  let  'em  alone  an'  wait  fer  'em  to  show  their 
hand.  They've  been  cute;  they've  been  sus 
pected,  but  they  ain't  never  got  out  on  a  limb. 

11 


162  '_!   CONQUERED" 

They've  got  a  lot  to  cover  up,  no  doubt.  But 
they've  got  a  grudge  now.  An'  when  cowards 
carry  grudges  —  look  out!" 

"If  a  man  like  Rhues  were  all  I  had  to  fear,  I 
should  never  worry,"  VB  muttered,  weak  again 
after  the  excitement.  "He's  bad  —  but  there 
are  worse  things  —  that  you  can't  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knocking  down." 

And  his  conspiring  nostrils  smelled  whisky  in 
that  untainted  air. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SCHOOLHOUSE  DANCE 

YOUNG  VB  held  a  twofold  interest  for  the 
men  of  Clear  River.  First,  the  story  of 
his  fight  with  the  Captain  spread  over  the  land, 
percolating  to  the  farthest  camps.  Men  laughed 
at  first.  The  absurdity  of  it!  Then,  their 
surprise  giving  way  to  their  appreciation  of  his 
attainment,  their  commendation  for  the  young 
Easterner  soared  to  superlatively  profane  heights. 

When  he  met  those  who  had  been  strangers 
before  it  was  to  be  scrutinized  and  questioned 
and  frankly,  honestly  admired. 

Now  came  another  reason  for  discussing  him 
about  bunk-house  stoves.  He  had  thrashed 
Rhues!  Great  as  had  been  the  credit  accorded 
VB  for  the  capture  of  the  stallion,  just  so  great 
was  men's  delight  caused  by  the  outcome  of  that 
other  encounter. 

They  remembered,  then,  how  Rhues  had  told 
of  the  greenhorn  who  was  afraid  to  take  a  drink; 
how  he  had  made  it  a  purpose  to  spread  stories  of 
ridicule,  doing  his  best  to  pervert  the  community's 
natural  desire  to  let  the  affairs  of  others  alone. 
And  this  recollection  of  Rhues's  bullying  was  an 
added  reason  for  their  saying : ' '  Good !  I  'm  glad  to 
hear  it.  Too  bad  th'  kid  did  n't  beat  him  to  death ! " 


164  "  —  I  CONQUERED" 

Though  his  meetings  with  other  men  were  few 
and  scattered,  VB  was  coming  to  be  liked.  It 
mattered  little  to  others  why  he  was  in  the  country, 
from  where  he  came,  or  who  he  had  been.  He  had 
accomplished  two  worthy  things  among  them,  and 
respect  was  accorded  him  across  vast  distances. 
Dozens  of  these  men  had  seen  him  only  once,  and 
scores  never,  yet  they  reckoned  him  of  their 
number  —  a  man  to  be  taken  seriously,  worthy 
of  their  kindly  attention,  of  their  interest,  and  of 
their  respect. 

Bob  Thorpe  helped  to  establish  VB  in  the 
mountains.  He  thought  much  about  his  inter 
view  with  the  young  chap,  and  told  to  a  half- 
dozen  men  the  story  which,  coming  from  him, 
had  weight. 

His  daughter  did  not  abandon  her  idea  of  own 
ing  the  Captain.  Bob  told  her  repeatedly  that 
it  was  useless  to  argue  with  a  man  who  spoke 
as  did  Jed's  rider;  but  the  girl  chose  to  disagree 
with  him. 

"I  think  that  if  you'd  flatter  him  enough  —  if 
we  both  would  —  that  he  would  listen.  Don't 
you?"  she  asked. 

Bob  Thorpe  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  answered.  "You  can't  convince 
me  of  that.  You  don't  know  men,  and  I  do. 
I  Ve  seen  one  or  two  like  him  before  —  who  love 
a  thing  of  that  sort  above  money;  and,  I  've  found 
you  can't  do  a  thing  with  'em  —  ding  'em!" 

The  girl   cried:     "Why,   don't  feel  that  way 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  165 

about  it !  I  think  it 's  perfectly  fine  —  to  love  an 
animal  so  much  that  money  won't  buy  him!" 

"Sure  it  is,"  answered  her  father.  "That's 
what  makes  me  out  of  patience  with  them. 
They  're  —  they  're  better  men  than  most  of  us, 
and  —  well,  they  make  a  fellow  feel  rather  small 
at  times." 

Then  he  went  away,  and  Gail  puzzled  over  his 
concluding  remark. 

A  week  to  a  day  after  her  first  visit  she  drove 
again  to  Jed's  ranch. 

"I  came  over  to  see  the  Captain,"  she  told 
the  old  man  gayly. 

"Well,  th'  Captain  ain't  here  now,"  he  an 
swered,  beaming  on  her;  "but  VB'll  be  back  with 
him  before  noon." 

She  looked  for  what  seemed  to  be  an  unneces 
sarily  long  time  at  her  watch,  and  then  asked: 

"Is  that  his  name?" 

"What  — th'  Captain?" 

"No  — VB." 

Jed  laughed  silently  at  her. 

' '  Yep  —  to  be  sure  an'  that 's  his  name  —  all 
th'  name  he's  got." 

"Well,  I  wish  Mr.  VB  would  hurry  back  with 
the  Captain,"  she  said. 

But  that  easy  flush  was  again  in  her  cheeks, 
and  the  turn  she  gave  the  conversation  was,  as 
they  say  in  certain  circles,  poor  footwork. 

Within  an  hour  the  Captain  bore  his  rider  home. 
Gail  stayed  for  dinner  and  ate  with  the  two  men. 


i66  "_I   CONQUERED" 

It  was  a  strange  meal  for  VB.  Not  in  months 
had  he  eaten  at  the  same  table  with  a  woman; 
not  in  years  had  he  broken  bread  with  a  woman 
such  as  this,  and  realization  of  the  fact  carried 
him  back  beyond  those  darkest  days.  He  remem 
bered  suddenly  and  quite  irrelevantly  that  he 
once  had  wondered  if  this  daughter  of  Bob 
Thorpe's  was  to  be  a  connecting  link  with  the 
old  life.  That  had  been  when  he  first  learned 
that  the  big  cattleman  had  a  daughter,  and  that 
she  was  living  in  his  East.  Now  as  he  sat  before 
neglected  food  and  watched  and  listened,  feasting 
his  starved  spirit  on  her,  noting  her  genuine 
vivacity,  her  enthusiasm,  the  quick  come  and  go 
of  color  in  her  fine  skin,  he  knew  that  she  was  a 
link,  but  not  with  the  past  that  he  had  feared. 
She  took  him  back  beyond  that,  into  his  earlier 
boyhood,  that  period  of  adolescence  when,  to  a 
clean-minded  boy,  all  things  are  good  and  un 
stained.  She  was  attractive  in  all  the  ways  that 
women  can  be  attractive,  and  at  the  same  time 
she  was  more  than  a  desirable  individual;  she 
seemed  to  stand  for  classes,  for  modes  of  living 
and  thinking,  that  Young  VB  had  put  behind 
him  —  put  behind  first  by  his  wasting,  now  by 
distance.  But  as  the  meal  progressed  a  fresh 
wonder  crept  up  in  his  mind.  Was  all  that 
really  so  very  far  away?  Was  not  the  distance 
just  that  between  them  and  the  big  ranch  house 
under  the  cotton  woods  beyond  the  hills?  And 
was  the  result  of  his  wasting  quite  irreparable?' 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  167 

Was  he  not  rebuilding  what  he  had  torn  down? 

He  felt  himself  thrilling  and  longing  suddenly 
for  fresher,  newer  experiences  as  the  talk  ran  on 
between  the  others.  The  conversation  was  wholly 
of  the  country,  and  VB  was  surprised  to  discover 
that  this  girl  could  talk  intelligently  and  argue 
effectively  with  Jed  over  local  stock  conditions 
when  she  looked  for  all  the  world  like  any  of  the 
hundreds  he  could  pick  out  on  Fifth  Avenue  at 
five  o'clock  of  any  fine  afternoon.  He  corrected 
himself  hastily.  She  was  not  like  those  others, 
either.  She  possessed  all  their  physical  endow 
ments,  all  and  more,  for  her  eye  was  clearer,  her 
carriage  better,  she  was  possessed  of  a  color  that 
was  no  sham;  and  a  finer  body.  Put  her  beside 
them  in  their  own  environment,  and  they  would 
seem  stale  by  comparison ;  bring  those  others 
here,  and  their  bald  artificiality  would  be  pathetic. 
The  boy  wanted  her  to  know  those  things,  yet 
thought  of  telling  her  never  came  to  his  conscious 
ness.  Subjectively  he  was  humble  before  her. 

The  interest  between  the  two  young  people  was 
not  centered  completely  in  VB.  Each  time  he 
lowered  his  gaze  to  his  plate  he  was  conscious  of 
those  frank,  intelligent  blue  eyes  on  him,  study 
ing,  prying,  wondering,  a  laugh  ever  deep  within 
them.  Now  and  then  the  girl  addressed  a  remark 
to  him,  but  for  the  most  part  she  spoke  directly 
to  Jed;  however,  she  was  studying  the  boy  every 
instant,  quietly,  carefully,  missing  no  detail, 
and  by  the  time  the  meal  neared  its  end  the 


168  "_ I  CONQUERED" 

laughter  had  left  her  eyes  and  they  betrayed 
a  frank  curiosity. 

When  the  meal  was  finished  the  girl  asked  VB 
to  take  her  to  the  corral.  She  made  the  request 
lightly,  but  it  smote  something  in  the  man  a 
teriffic  blow,  stirring  old  memories,  fresh  desires, 
and  he  was  strangely  glad  that  he  could  do  some 
thing  for  her.  As  they  walked  from  the  cabin 
to  the  inclosure  he  was  flushed,  embarrassed, 
awkward.  He  could  not  talk  to  her,  could 
scarcely  keep  his  body  from  swinging  from  side 
to  side  with  schoolbo}^  shyness. 

The  stallion  did  not  fidget  at  sight  of  the  girl 
as  he  had  done  on  the  approach  of  other  strangers. 
He  snorted  and  backed  away,  keeping  his  eyes 
on  her  and  his  ears  up  with  curiosity,  coming  to 
a  halt  against  the  far  side  of  the  corral  and 
switching  his  fine  tail  down  over  the  shapely 
hocks  as  though  to  make  these  people  understand 
that  in  spite  of  his  seeming  harmlessness  he  might 
yet  show  the  viciousness  that  lurked  down  in  his 
big  heart. 

"I  think  he'll  come  to  like  you,"  said  VB, 
looking  from  his  horse  to  the  girl.  "I  don't  see 
how  he  could  help  it  —  to  like  women,  under 
stand,"  he  added  hastily  when  she  turned  a  wide- 
eyed  gaze  on  him.  "He  doesn't  like  strange 
men,  but  see  —  he's  interested  in  you;  and  it's 
curiosity,  not  anger.  I  —  I  don't  blame  him  — 
for  being  interested,"  he  ventured,  and  hated  him 
self  for  the  flush  that  swept  up  from  his  neck. 


THE   SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  i6g 

They  both  laughed,  and  Gail  said:  "So  this 
country  hasn't  taken  the  flattery  out  of  you?" 

"Why,  it's  been  years  —  years  since  I  said  a 
thing  like  that  to  a  girl  of  your  sort,"  VB  an 
swered  soberly. 

An  awkward  pause  followed. 

"Dare  I  touch  him?"  the  girl  finally  asked. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  to-day,"  VB  advised.  "Just 
let  him  look  at  you  now.  Some  other  time  we'll 
see  if  —  That  is,  if  you  '11  ever  come  to  see  us  — 
to  see  the  Captain  again." 

"I  should  like  to  come  to  see  the  Captain  very 
much,  and  as  often  as  is  proper,"  she  said  with 
mocking  demureness. 

And  she  did  come  again;  and  again  and  yet 
again.  Always  she  took  pains  to  begin  with 
inquiries  about  the  horse.  When  she  did  this 
in  Jed  Avery's  presence  it  was  with  a  peculiar 
avoidance  of  his  gaze,  that  might  have  been  from 
embarrassment;  when  she  asked  Young  VB  those 
questions  it  was  with  a  queer  little  teasing  smile. 
A  half-dozen  times  she  found  the  boy  alone  at 
the  ranch,  and  the  realization  that  on  such  occa 
sions  she  stayed  longer  than  she  did  when  Jed 
was  about  gave  him  a  new  thrill  of  delight. 

At  first  there  was  an  awkward  reserve  between 
them,  but  after  the  earlier  visits  this  broke  down 
and  their  talk  became  interspersed  with  personal 
references,  with  small,  inconsequential  confidences 
that,  intrinsically  worthless,  meant  much  to  them. 
Yet  there  was  never  a  word  of  the  life  both  had 


i7o  '_!   CONQUERED" 

lived  far  over  the  other  side  of  those  snowcaps 
to  the  eastward.  Somehow  the  girl  felt  intui 
tively  that  it  had  not  all  been  pleasant  for  the. 
man  there,  and  VB  maintained  a  stubborn 
reticence.  He  could  have  told  her  much  of  her 
own  life  back  in  the  East,  of  the  things  she  liked, 
of  the  events  and  conditions  that  were  irksome, 
because  he  knew  the  environment  in  which  she 
had  lived  and  he  felt  that  he  knew  the  girl  herself. 
He  would  not  touch  that  topic,  however,  for  it 
would  lead  straight  to  his  life;  and  all  that  he 
wanted  for  his  thoughts  now  were  Jed  and  the 
hills  and  the  Captain  and  —  this  girl.  They 
composed  a  comfortable  world  of  which  he  wanted 
to  be  a  part. 

Gail  found  herself  feeling  strangely  at  home 
with  this  young  fellow.  She  experienced  a  min 
gled  feeling  compounded  of  her  friendship  for  the 
finished  youths  she  had  known  during  school  days 
and  that  which  she  felt  for  the  men  of  her  moun 
tains,  who  were,  she  knew,  as  rugged,  as  genuine, 
as  the  hills  themselves.  To  her  Young  VB  rang 
true  from  the  ground  up,  and  he  bore  the  finish 
that  can  come  only  from  contact  with  many  men. 
That  is  a  rare  combination. 

It  came  about  that  after  a  time  the  Captain 
let  Gail  touch  him,  allowed  her  to  walk  about  him 
and  caress  his  sleek  body.  Always,  when  she  was 
near,  he  stood  as  at  attention,  dignified  and  self- 
conscious,  and  from  time  to  time  his  eyes  would 
seek  the  face  of  his  master,  as  though  for 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  171 

reassurance.  Once  after  the  girl  had  gone  VB 
took  the  Captain's  face  between  his  hands  and, 
looking  into  the  big  black  eyes,  muttered  almost 
fiercely : 

"She's  as  much  of  the  real  stuff  as  you  are,  old 
boy!  Do  you  think,  Captain,  that  I  can  ever 
match  up  with  you  two?" 

Before  a  month  had  gone  by  the  girl  could  lead 
the  Captain  about,  could  play  with  him  almost 
as  familiarly  as  VB  did;  but  always  the  horse 
submitted  as  if  uninterested,  went  through  this 
formality  of  making  friends  as  though  it  were  a 
duty  that  bored  him. 

Once  Dick  Worth,  the  deputy  from  Sand  Creek, 
and  his  wife  rode  up  the  gulch  to  see  the  black 
stallion.  While  the  Captain  would  not  allow  the 
man  near  him,  he  suffered  the  woman  to  tweak 
his  nose  and  slap  his  cheeks  and  pull  his  ears; 
then  it  was  that  Jed  and  VB  knew  that  the  animal 
understood  the  difference  between  sexes  and  that 
the  chivalry  which  so  became  him  had  been 
cultivated  by  his  intimacy  with  Gail  Thorpe. 

After  that,  of  course,  there  was  no  plausible 
excuse  for  Gail's  repeated  visits.  However,  she 
continued  coming.  VB  was  always  reserved  up 
to  a  certain  point  before  her,  never  yielding  beyond 
it  in  spite  of  the  strength  of  the  subtle  tactics  she 
employed  to  draw  him  out.  A  sense  of  uncer 
tainty  of  himself  held  him  aloof.  Within  him  was 
a  traditional  respect  for  women.  He  idealized 
them,  and  then  set  for  men  a  standard  which  they 


172  "_I   CONQUERED" 

must  attain  before  meeting  women  as  equals. 
But  this  girl,  while  satisfying  his  ideal,  would 
not  remain  aloof.  She  forced  herself  into  VB's 
presence,  forced  herself,  and  yet  with  a  delicacy 
that  could  not  be  misunderstood.  She  came 
regularly,  her  visits  lengthened,  and  one  sunny 
afternoon  as  they  stood  watching  the  Captain 
roll  she  looked  up  sharply  at  the  man  beside  her. 

"Why  do  you  keep  me  at  this?" 

"This?    What?    I  don't  get  your  meaning." 

"At  coming  over  here?  Why  don't  you  come 
to  see  me  ?  I  -  Of  course,  I  have  n't  any  fine 
horse  to  show  you,  but — " 

Her  voice  trailed  off,  with  a  hint  of  wounded 
pride  in  the  tone.  The  man  faced  her,  stunning 
surprise  in  his  face. 

"You  —  you  don't  think  I  fail  to  value  this 
friendship  of  ours?"  he  demanded,  rallying. 
"You-  Why,  what  can  I  say  to  you?  It 
has  meant  so  much  to  me  —  just  seeing  you;  it's 
been  one  of  the  finest  things  of  this  fine  country. 
But  I  thought  —  I  thought  it  was  because  of 
this, "--with  a  gesture  toward  the  Captain,  who 
stood  shaking  the  dust  from  his  hair  with  mighty 
effort.  "I  thought  all  along  you  were  interested 
in  the  horse;  not  that  you  cared  about  knowing 
me—" 

"Did  you  really  think  that?"  she  broke  in. 

VB  flushed,  then  laughed,  with  an  abrupt  change 
-of  mood. 

"Well,  it  began  that  way,"  he  pleaded  weakly. 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  173 

"And  you'd  let  it  end  that  way." 

"Oh,  no;  you  don't  understand,  Miss  Thorpe," 
serious  again.  "I  —  I  can't  explain,  and  you 
don't  understand  now.  But  I've  felt  somehow 
as  though  it  would  be  presuming  too  much  if  I 
came  to  see  you." 

She  looked  at  him  calculatingly  a  long  moment 
as  he  twirled  his  hat  and  kicked  at  a  pebble  with 
his  boot. 

"I  think  it  would  be  presuming  too  much  if 
you  let  me  do  all  the  traveling,  since  you  admit 
that  a  friendship  does  exist,"  she  said  lightly. 

"Then  the  only  gallant  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to 
call  on  you." 

"I  think  so.     I 'm  glad  you  recognize  the  fact." 

"When  shall  it  be?" 

"Any  time.  If  I'm  not  home,  stay  until  I  get 
back.  Daddy  likes  you.  You'll  love  my  mother." 

The  vague  "any  time"  occurred  three  days 
later.  Young  VB  made  a  special  trip  over  the 
hills  to  the  S  Bar  S.  The  girl  was  stretched  in  a 
hammock,  reading,  when  he  rode  up,  and  at  the 
sound  of  his  horse  she  scrambled  to  her  feet, 
flushed,  and  evidently  disconcerted. 

"I'd  given  you  up!"  she  cried. 

"In  three  days?"  taking  the  hand  she  offered. 

"Well  —  most  boys  in  the  East  would  have 
come  the  next  morning  —  if  they  were  really 
interested." 

"This  is  Colorado,"  he  reminded  her. 

He  sat  crosslegged  on  the  ground  at  her  feet, 


i74  "—I   CONQUERED" 

and  they  talked  of  the  book  she  had  been  reading. 
It  was  a  novel  of  music  and  a  musician  and  a  rare 
achievement,  she  said.  He  questioned  her  about 
the  story,  and  their  talk  drifted  to  music,  on 
which  they  both  could  converse  well. 

"You  don't  know  what  it  means — to  sit  here  and 
talk  of  these  things  with  you,"  he  said  hungrily. 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  know,"  she  said,  leaning 
forward  over  her  knees. 

For  two  long  hours  they  talked  as  they  never 
had  talked  before;  of  personal  tastes,  of  kindred 
enthusiasms,  of  books  and  plays  and  music  and 
people.  They  went  into  the  ranch  house,  and 
Gail  played  for  him  —  on  the  only  grand  piano 
in  that  section  of  the  state.  They  came  out,  and 
she  saddled  her  pony  to  ride  part  way  back  through 
the  hills  with  him. 

"Adios,  my  friend,"  she  called  after  him,  as 
he  swung  away  from  her. 

"It's  your  turn  to  call  now,"  he  shouted  back 
to  her,  and  when  the  ridge  took  him  from  sight 
he  leaned  low  to  the  Captain's  ear  and  repeated 
gently,  -  ' '  my  friend ! ' ' 

So  the  barrier  of  reserve  was  broken.  VB  did 
not  dare  think  into  the  future  in  any  connection  — 
least  of  all  in  relation  to  this  new  and  growing 
friendship;  yet  he  wanted  to  make  their  under 
standing  more  complete  though  he  would  scarcely 
admit  that  fact  even  to  himself. 

A  week  had  not  passed  when  Gail  Thorpe  drove 
the  automobile  up  to  the  VB  gate. 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  175 

"I  did  n't  come  to  see  the  Captain  this  time," 
she  announced  to  them  both.  "I  came  to  pay  a 
party  call  to  Mr.  VB,  and  to  include  Mr.  Avery. 
Because  when  a  girl  out  here  receives  a  visit 
from  a  man  it's  of  party  proportions!" 

As  she  was  leaving,  she  asked,  "Why  don't  you 
come  down  to  the  dance  Friday  night?" 

"A  big  event?" 

"Surely!"  She  laughed  merrily.  "It's  the 
first  one  since  spring,  and  everybody  '11  be  there. 
Mr.  Avery  will  surely  come.  Won't  you,  too, 
Mr.  VB?" 

He  evaded  her,  but  when  she  had  turned  the 
automobile  about  and  sped  down  the  road, 
homeward  bound,  he  let  down  the  bars  for  youth's 
romanticism  and  knew  that  he  would  dance  with 
her  if  it  meant  walking  every  one  of  the  twenty-two 
miles  to  the  schoolhouse. 

For  the  first  time  in  years  VB  felt  a  thrill  at 
the  anticipation  of  a  social  function,  and  with  it  a 
guilty  little  thought  kept  buzzing  in  the  depths 
of  his  mind.  The  thought  was:  Is  her  hair  as 
fragrant  as  it  is  glorious  in  color  and  texture? 

Jed  and  VB  made  the  ride  after  supper,  over 
frozen  paths,  for  autumn  had  aged  and  the  tang  of 
winter  was  in  the  air.  Miles  away  they  could 
see  the  glow  of  the  bonfire  that  had  been  built 
before  the  little  stone  schoolhouse;  and  VB  was 
not  sorry  that  Jed  wanted  to  ride  the  last  stages 
of  the  trip  at  a  faster  pace. 


176  "_I  CONQUERED" 

Clear  River  had  turned  out,  to  the  last  man 
and  woman  —  and  to  the  last  child,  too !  The 
schoolhouse  was  no  longer  a  seat  of  learning;  it 
was  a  festal  bower.  The  desks  had  been  taken 
up  and  placed  along  the  four  walls,  seats  outward, 
tops  forming  a  ledge  against  the  calcimined  stones, 
making  a  splendid  place  for  those  youngest 
children  who  had  turned  out!  Yes,  a  dozen 
babies  slumbered  there  in  the  confusion,  wrapped 
in  many  thicknesses  of  blankets. 

Three  lamps  with  polished  reflectors  were 
placed  on  window  ledges,  and  the  yellow  glare 
filled  the  room  with  just  sufficient  brilliance  to 
soften  lines  in  faces  and  wrinkles  in  gowns  that 
clung  to  bodies  in  unexpected  places.  The  fourth 
window  ledge  was  reserved  for  the  music  —  a 
phonograph  with  a  morning-glory  horn,  a  green 
morning-glory  horn  that  would  have  baffled  a 
botanist.  The  stove  blushed  as  if  for  its  plain 
ness  in  the  center  of  the  room,  and  about  it, 
with  a  great  scraping  of  feet  and  profound 
efforts  to  be  always  gentlemanly  and  at  ease, 
circled  the  men,  guiding  their  partners. 

VB  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched.  He 
coughed  slightly  from  the  dust  that  rose  and 
mantled  everything  with  a  dulling  blanket  — 
everything,  I  said,  but  the  eyes  must  be  excepted. 
They  flashed  with  as  warm  a  brilliance  as  they 
ever  do  where  there  is  music  and  dancing  and 
laughter. 

The  music  stopped.     Women  scurried  to  their 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  177 

seats;  some  lifted  the  edges  of  blankets  and 
peered  with  concerned  eyes  at  the  little  sleepers 
lying  there,  then  whirled  about  and  opened  their 
arms  to  some  new  gallant;  for  so  brief  was  the 
interval  between  dances. 

"Well,  are  you  never  going  to  see  me?" 

VB  started  at  the  sound  of  Gail's  voice  so  close 
to  him.  He  bowed  and  smiled  at  her. 

' '  I  was  interested, ' '  he  said  in  excuse.  ' '  Getting 
my  bearings." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  the  expectancy  in  her  face 
forced  his  invitation,  and  they  joined  the  swirl 
about  the  stove. 

"I  can't  dance  in  these  riding  boots,"  he 
confided  with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  "Never 
thought  about  it  until  now." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can!  You  dance  much  better 
than  most  men.  Don't  stop,  please!" 

He  knew  that  no  woman  who  danced  with 
Gail's  lightness  could  find  pleasure  in  the  stum 
bling,  stilted  accompaniment  of  his  handicapped 
feet ;  and  the  conviction  sent  a  fresh  thrill  through 
him.  He  was  glad  she  wanted  him  to  keep  on! 
She  had  played  upon  the  man  down  in  him  and 
touched  upon  vanity,  one  of  those  weak  spots  in 
us.  She  wanted  him  near.  His  arm,  spite  of 
his  caution,  tightened  a  trifle  and  he  suddenly 
knew  that  her  hair  was  as  fragrant  as  it  should 
be  —  a  heavy,  rich  odor  that  went  well  with  its 
other  wealth !  For  an  instant  he  was  a  bit  giddy, 
but  as  the  music  came  to  a  stop  he  recovered 

12 


178  "—I  CONQUERED" 

himself  and  walked  silently  beside  Gail  to  a  seat. 

After  that  he  danced  with  the  wife  of  a  cattle 
man,  and  answered  absently  her  stammered 
advances  at  communication  while  he  watched  the 
floating  figure  of  Gail  Thorpe  as  it  followed  the 
bungling  lead  of  her  father's  foreman. 

The  end  of  the  intermission  found  him  with  her 
again.  As  they  whirled  away  his  movements 
became  a  little  quicker,  his  tongue  a  little  looser. 
It  had  been  a  long  time  since  he  had  felt  so  gay. 

He  learned  of  the  other  women,  Gail  telling 
him  about  them  as  they  danced,  and  through  the 
thrill  that  her  warm  breath  aroused  he  found 
himself  delighting  in  the  individuality  of  her 
expression,  the  stamping  of  a  characteristic  in  his 
mind  by  a  queer  little  word  or  twisted  phrase. 
He  discovered,  too,  that  she  possessed  a  penetrat 
ing  insight  into  the  latent  realities  of  life.  The 
red-handed,  blunt,  strong  women  about  him,  who 
could  ride  with  their  husbands  and  brothers,  who 
could  face  hardships,  who  knew  grim  elementals, 
became  new  beings  under  the  interpretation  of  this 
sunny-haired  girl;  took  on  a  charm  tinged  with 
pathos  that  brought  up  within  VB  a  sympathy 
that  those  struggles  in  himself  had  all  but  buried. 
And  the  knowledge  that  Gail  appreciated  those 
raw  realities  made  him  look  down  at  her  linger- 
ingly,  a  trifle  wonderingly. 

She  was  of  that  other  life  —  the  life  of  refine 
ments  —  in  so  many  ways,  yet  she  had  escaped 
its  host  of  artificialities.  She  had  lifted  herself 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE   DANCE  179 

above  the  people  among  whom  she  was  reared; 
but  her  touch,  her  sympathies,  her  warm  human- 
ness  remained  unalloyed!  She  was  real. 

And  then,  when  he  was  immersed  in  this 
appreciation  of  her,  she  turned  the  talk  suddenly 
to  him.  He  was  but  slightly  responsive.  He  put 
her  off,  evaded,  but  he  laughed ;  his  cold  reluctance 
to  let  her  know  him  had  ceased  to  be  so  stern, 
and  her  determination  to  get  behind  his  silence 
rose. 

As  they  stood  in  the  doorway  in  a  midst  of 
repartee  she  burst  on  him: 

"Mr.  VB,  why  do  you  go  about  with  that  awful 
name?  It's  almost  as  bad  as  being  branded." 

He  sobered  so  quickly  that  it  frightened  her. 

"Maybe  I  am  branded,"  he  said  slowly,  and  her 
agile  understanding  caught  the  significance  of  his 
tone.  "Perhaps  I'm  branded  and  can't  use 
another.  Who  knows?" 

He  smiled  at  her,  but  from  sobered  eyes. 
Confused  by  his  evident  seriousness,  she  made 
one  more  attempt,  and  laughed:  "Well,  if  you 
won't  tell  me  who  you  are,  won't  you  please  tell 
me  what  you  are?" 

The  door  swung  open  then,  and  on  the  heels  of 
her  question  came  voices  from  without.  One 
voice  rose  high  above  the  rest,  and  they  heard: 
"Aw,  come  on;  le's  have  jus'  one  more  little  drag 
at  th'  bottle!" 

VB  looked  at  Gail  a  bit  wildly. 

Those  words  meant  that  out  there  whisky  was 


i8o  "_I  CONQUERED" 

waiting  for  him,  and  at  its  mention  that  searing 
thing  sprang  alive  in  his  throat! 

"What  am  I?"  he  repeated  dully,  trying  to 
rally  himself.  "What  am  I?"  Unknowingly 
his  fingers  gripped  her  arm.  "Who  knows? 
I  don't!" 

And  he  flung  out  of  the  place,  wanting  but  one 
thing  —  to  be  with  the  Captain,  to  feel  the  stal 
lion's  nose  in  his  arms,  to  stand  close  to  the  body 
which  housed  a  spirit  that  knew  no  defeat. 

As  he  strode  past  the  bonfire  a  man's  face  leered 
at  him  from  the  far  side.  The  man  was  Rhues. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MURDER 

'T>HE  incident  at  the  schoolhouse  was  not 
••-  overlooked.  Gail  Thorpe  was  not  the  only 
one  who  heard  and  saw  and  understood;  others 
connected  the  mention  of  drink  with  VB's  sudden 
departure.  The  comment  went  around  in  whis 
pers  at  the  dance,  to  augment  and  amplify  those 
other  stories  which  had  arisen  back  in  the  Anchor 
bunk  house  and  which  had  been  told  by  Rhues 
of  the  meeting  in  Ranger. 

"Young  VB  is  afraid  to  take  a  drink,"  declared 
a  youth  to  a  group  about  the  fire  where  they 
discussed  the  incident. 

He  laughed  lightly  and  Dick  Worth  looked 
sharply  at  the  boy. 

"Mebby  he  is,"  he  commented,  reprimand  in 
his  tone,  "an'  mebby  it  'd  be  a  good  thing  for  some 
o'  you  kids  if  you  was  afraid.  Don't  laugh  at 
him !  We  know  he'  s  pretty  much  man  —  'cause 
he  's  done  real  things  since  comin '  in  here  a  rank 
greenhorn.  Don 't  laugh !  You  ought  to  help, 
instead  o'  that." 

And  the  young  fellow,  taking  the  rebuke, 
admitted:  "I  guess  you're  right.  Maybe  the 
booze  has  put  a  crimp  in  him." 

So  VB  gave  the  community  one  more  cause  for 

181 


i82  "_I   CONQUERED" 

watching  him.  Quick  to  perceive,  ever  taking 
into  consideration  his  achievements  which  spoke 
of  will  and  courage,  Clear  River  gave  him  silent 
sympathy,  and  promptly  put  the  matter  out  of 
open  discussion.  It  was  no  business  of  theirs  so 
long  as  VB  kept  it  to  himself.  Yet  they  watched, 
knowing  a  fight  was  being  waged  and  guessing  at 
the  outcome,  the  older  and  wiser  ones  hoping 
while  they  guessed. 

When  Bob  Thorpe  announced  to  his  daughter 
that  he  was  going  to  Jed  Avery's  ranch  and 
would  like  to  have  her  drive  him  over  through 
the  first  feathery  dusting  of  snow,  a  strain  of 
unpleasant  thinking  which  had  endured  for  three 
days  was  broken  for  the  girl.  In  fact,  her  relief 
was  so  evident  that  the  cattleman  stared  hard  at 
his  daughter. 

"You're  mighty  enthusiastic  about  that  place, 
seems  to  me,"  he  remarked. 

"Why  should  n't  I  be?"  she  asked.  "There's 
where  they  keep  the  finest  horse  in  this  country!" 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  a  bit  grimly. 

She  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  Then,  coming 
close,  she  patted  one  of  the  weathered  cheeks. 

"He's  awfully  nice,  daddy  —  and  so  myste 
rious!" 

The  giggle  she  forced  somehow  reassured  him. 
He  did  not  know  it  was  forced. 

They  arrived  at  Jed's  ranch  as  Kelly,  the 
horse  buyer,  was  preparing  to  depart  after  long 
weeks  in  the  country.  His  bunch  was  in  the 


MURDER  183 

lower  pasture  and  two  saddle  horses  waited  at  the 
gate. 

Thorpe  and  his  daughter  found  Jed,  VB,  and 
Kelly  in  the  cabin.  The  horse  buyer  was  just 
putting  bills  back  into  his  money  belt,  and  Jed 
still  fingered  the  roll  that  he  had  taken  for  his 
horses. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  to  pack  all  that  around, 
Kelly?"  Thorpe  asked. 

"No  —  nobody  holds  people  up  any  more,"  he 
laughed.  "There's  only  an  even  six  hundred 
there,  anyhow  —  and  a  fifty-dollar  bill  issued  by 
the  Confederate  States  of  America,  which  I  carry 
for  luck.  My  father  was  a  raider  with  Morgan," 
he  explained,  "and  I  was  fifteen  years  old  before 
I  knew  'damn  Yank'  was  two  words!" 

VB  was  preparing  to  go  with  the  buyer,  to  ride 
the  first  two  days  at  least  to  help  him  handle 
the  bunch.  They  expected  to  make  it  well  out 
of  Ranger  the  second  day,  and  after  that  Kelly 
would  pick  up  another  helper. 

Gail  followed  VB  when  he  went  outside. 

"I'm  going  away,  too,"  she  said. 

"So?"- 

"Yes;  mother  and  I  will  leave  for  California 
day  after  to-morrow,  for  the  winter." 

"That  will  be  fine!" 

"Will  I  be  missed?" 

He  shrank  from  this  personal  talk.  He 
remembered  painfully  their  last  meeting.  He 
was  acutely  conscious  of  how  it  had  ended,  and 


184  "__I   CONQUERED" 

knew  that  the  incident  of  his  abrupt  departure 
must  have  set  her  wondering. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  meeting  her  answer 
truthfully,  "I  shall  miss  you.  I  like  you." 

Such  a  thing  from  him  was  indeed  a  jolt,  and 
Gail  stooped  to  pick  up  a  wisp  of  hay  to  cover  her 
confusion. 

"But  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "I  must  be  going." 

She  looked  up  in  surprise.  The  horse  buyer 
still  talked  and  the  discussion  bade  fair  to  go  on 
for  a  long  time. 

"You're  not  starting?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no.  Not  for  half  an  hour,  anyhow.  But 
you  see,  the  Captain  found  a  pup-hole  yesterday 
and  wrenched  his  leg  a  little.  Not  much,  but 
I  don't  want  him  to  work  when  anything 's  wrong. 
So  I  'm  leaving  him  behind  and  I  must  look  after 
him.  Will  you  excuse  me?  Good-by!" 

She  was  so  slow  in  extending  her  hand  that  he 
was  forced  to  reach  down  for  it.  It  was  limp 
within  his,  and  she  merely  mumbled  a  response 
to  his  hasty  farewell. 

Gail  watched  him  swing  off  toward  the  corral, 
saw  him  enter  through  the  gate  and  put  his 
face  against  the  stallion's  neck.  She  strolled 
toward  the  car,  feet  heavy. 

' ' He  would  n't  even  ask  me  to  go  —  go  with  him. 
He  cares  more  about  —  that  horse  —  than  — " 

She  clenched  her  fists  and  whispered:  "I 
hate  you!  I  hate  you!"  Then  mounting  to  the 
seat  and  tucking  the  robe  about  her  ankles,  she 


MURDER  185 

blew  her  nose,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  in  a  voice 
strained  high  said:    "No,  I  don't,  either." 

VB  and  Kelly  took  their  bunch  down  the  gulch 
at  a  spanking  trot.  Most  of  the  stock  was  fairly 
gentle  and  they  had  little  difficulty.  They  planned 
to  stop  at  a  deserted  cabin  a  few  miles  north 
of  Ranger  where  a  passable  remnant  of  fenced 
pasture  still  remained.  They  reached  the  place 
at  dark  and  made  a  hasty  meal,  after  which 
VB  rolled  in,  but  his  companion  roped  a  fresh 
horseand  made  on  to  Ranger  for  a  few  hours' 
diversion. 

It  was  nearly  dawn  when  Kelly  returned  with  a 
droll  account  of  the  night's  poker,  and  although 
VB  was  for  going  on  early,  wanting  to  be  rid  of 
the  task,  the  other  insisted  on  sleeping. 

"I  don't  want  to  get  too  far,  anyhow,"  he 
said.  ''Those  waddies  like  to  rimmed  me  last 
night.  Got  all  I  had  except  what 's  in  old  Betsy, 
the  belt.  I'm  goin'  back  to-night  and  get  their 
scalp!" 

It  was  noon  before  they  reached  Ranger  and 
swung  to  the  east. 

' '  Oh,  I  '11  be  back  to-night  and  get  you  fellows ! " 
Kelly  called  to  a  man  who  waved  to  him  from  the 
saloon. 

VB  held  his  gaze  in  the  opposite  direction.  He 
knew  that  even  the  sight  of  the  place  might  raise 
the  devil  in  him  again. 

A  man  emerged  from  one  of  the  three  isolated 
shacks  down  on  the  river  bank.  It  was  Rhues. 


186  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  two  rode  slowly,  for  the  buyer  was  in  no 
mood  for  fast  travel,  and  for  a  long  time  Rhues 
stood  there  following  them  with  his  eyes. 

At  dusk  the  horsemen  turned  the  bunch  into  a 
corral  and  prepared  to  spend  the  night  with  beds 
spread  in  the  ruin  of  a  cabin  near  the  inclosure. 
Before  the  bed-horses  had  been  relieved  of  their 
burdens  a  cowboy  rode  along  who  was  known  to 
Kelly,  and  arrangements  were  made  for  him  to 
take  VB's  place  on  the  morrow. 

"Well,  then,  all  you  want  me  to  do  is  to  stay 
here  to-night  to  see  that  things  don't  go  wrong. 
Is  that  it?"  VB  asked. 

"Yep —  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  with  a  yawn. 
"I  guess  I  won't  sit  in  that  game  to-night.  I'll 
get  some  sleep.  Mebby  if  I  did  go  back  I  'd  only 
have  to  dig  up  part  of  my  bank  here."  He 
patted  his  waist.  "You  can  go  on  home  if  you 
want  to." 

VB  was  glad  to  be  released,  for  he  could  easily 
reach  the  ranch  that  night.  He  left  Kelly  talking 
with  the  cowboy,  making  their  plans  for  the  next 
day,  and  struck  across  the  country  for  Jed's  ranch. 

Left  alone,  the  horse  buyer  munched  a  cold 
meal.  Then,  shivering,  he  crept  into  his  thick 
bed  and  slept.  An  hour  passed  —  two  —  three. 

A  horse  dropped  slowly  off  a  point  near  the 
corral.  A  moment  later  two  more  followed. 
One  rider  dismounted  and  walked  away  after  a 
low,  hoarse  wrhisper;  another  pushed  his  horse 


MURDER  187 

into  the  highway  and  stood  still,  listening;  the 
third  held  the  pony  that  had  been  left  riderless. 

A  figure,  worming  its  way  close  to  the  ground, 
crawled  up  on  the  sleeping  horse  buyer.  It 
moved  silently,  a  yard  at  a  time;  then  stopped, 
raised  its  head  as  though  to  listen;  on  again, 
ominously,  so  much  a  part  of  the  earth  it  covered 
that  it  might  have  been  just  the  ridge  raised  by 
a  giant  mole  burrowing  along  under  the  surface. 
It  approached  to  within  three  yards  of  the  sleep 
ing  man;  to  within  six  feet;  three;  two. 

Then  it  rose  to  its  knees  slowly,  cautiously, 
silently,  and  put  out  a  hand  gently,  lightly  feeling 
the  outlines  of  the  blankets.  A  shoot  of  orange 
scorched  the  darkness  —  and  another,  so  close 
together  that  the  flame  was  almost  continuous. 
The  blankets  heaved,  trembled,  settled. 

The  man  on  his  knees  hovered  a  long  moment, 
revolver  ready,  listening  intently.     Not  a  sound  — 
even  the  horses  seemed  to  be  straining  their  ears 
for  another  break  in  the  night. 

The  man  reached  out  a  hand  and  drew  the 
blankets  away  from  the  figure  beneath,  thrusting 
his  face  close.  The  starlight  filtered  in  and  he 
drew  a  long,  quivering  breath  —  not  in  hate 
or  horror,  but  in  surprise.  He  got  to  his  feet 
and  listened  again.  Then  he  moved  into  the 
open,  over  the  way  he  had  come.  After  a  dozen 
quick,  stealthy  paces  he  stopped  and  turned  back. 
He  unbuttoned  the  jumper  about  the  figure 
under  the  blankets,  unbuttoned  the  shirt,  felt 


i83  "  —  I  CONQUERED" 

quickly  about  the  waist,  fumbled  a  moment,  and 
jerked  out  a  long,  limp  object.  Again  he  strode 
catlike  into  the  open,  and  as  he  went  he  tucked 
the  money  belt  into  his  shirt-front. 

VB  rode  straight  to  the  ranch.  He  made  a 
quick  ride  and  arrived  before  ten. 

"Mighty  glad  Kelly  got  that  man,"  he  told 
Jed.  "I'm.  like  a  fish  out  of  water  away  from 
the  Captain." 

At  dusk  the  next  day  a  horseman  rode  up  the 
gulch  to  Jed's  outfit.  The  old  man  stood  in  the 
doorway,  watching  him  approach. 

"Hello,  Dick!"  he  called,  recognizing  the  deputy 
from  Sand  Creek. 

"How's  things,  Jed?" 

" Better 'n  fine." 

Worth  left  his  horse  and  entered  the  cabin. 

"VB  around?"  he  asked. 

"Uh-huh;  out  in  th'  corral  foolin'  with  th' 
Captain." 

Dick  dropped  to  a  chair  and  pushed  his  hat 
back.  He  looked  on  the  other  a  moment,  then 
asked :  ' '  What  time  did  VB  get  home  last  night  ? ' ' 

Jed  showed  evident  surprise,  but  answered: 
"Between  half -past  nine  an'  ten." 

"Notice  his  horse?" 

"Saw  him  this  mornin'.     Why?" 

"Was  it  a  hard  ride  th'  boy  made?" 

"No  —  sure  not.  I  rode  th'  pony  down  to 
th'  lower  pasture  myself  this  afternoon." 


MURDER  189 

Worth  drew  a  deep  breath  and  smiled  as  though 
relieved. 

"Bein'  'n  officer  is  mighty  onpleasant  some 
times,"  he  confessed.  "I  knew  it  wasn't  no 
use  to  ask  them  questions,  but  I  had  to  do  it  — 
'cause  I'm  a  deputy."  With  mouth  set,  Jed 
waited  for  the  explanation  he  knew  must  come. 

"Kelly  was  killed  while  he  slept  last  night." 

Horror  was  the  first  natural  impulse  for  a 
man  to  experience  on  the  knowledge  of  such  a 
tragedy,  but  horror  did  not  come  to  Jed  Avery 
then  or  for  many  minutes.  He  put  out  a  hand 
slowly  and  felt  for  the  table  as  though  dizzy. 

Then,  in  a  half  tone,  "You  don't  mean  you  sus 
pected  VB  ?  Dick  —  Dick! ' ' 

The  sheriff's  face  became  troubled. 

"Jed,  didn't  I  tell  you  I  knew  it  wasn't  no 
use  to  ask  them  questions?"  he  said  reassuringly. 
"I'd  'a'  gambled  my  outfit  on  th'  boy,  'cause  I 
know  what  he  is.  When  you  tell  me  he  got  here 
by  ten  an'  it  was  n't  a  hard  ride,  I  know  they's 
no  use  even  thinkin'  about  it.  But  th'  fact  is  — 

"You  see,  Jed,  everybody  in  th'  country  has 
got  to  know  what's  up  with  VB.  They  know 
he's  fightin'  back  th'  booze!  That  gang  o' 
skunks  down  at  Ranger  —  Rhues  an'  his  outfit  - 
started  out  to  rub  it  into  VB,  but  everybody 
knew  they  was  tellin'  lies.  An'  everybody's 
thought  lots  of  him  fer  th'  fight  he's  made." 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  walked  slowly  about  the 
room. 


igo  "_I  CONQUERED" 

"But  th'  truth  is,  Jed  —  an'  you  know  it  — 
when  a  man's  been  hittin'  th'  booze,  an'  we 
ain't  sure  he's  beat  it  out,  we're  always  lookin' 
fer  him  to  slip.  Nobody  down  at  Ranger  has 
thought  one  word  about  VB  in  this,  only  that 
mebby  he  could  tell  who'd  been  round  there. 

"But,  bein'  'n  officer,  I  had  th'  sneakin',  dirty 
idee  I  ought  to  ask  them  questions  about  VB. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it,  Jed.  That's  all!  I'm 
deputy;  VB's  been  a  boozer. 

' '  But  I  tell  you,  Jed  A  very,  it  sure  's  a  relief 
to  know  it's  all  right." 

The  warmth  of  sincerity  was  in  his  tone  and  his 
assurances  had  been  of  the  best,  but  Jed  slumped 
limply  into  a  chair  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hands. 

"It's  a  rotten  world,  Dick  —  a  rotten,  rotten 
world!"  he  said.  "I  know  you're  all  right;  I 
know  you  mean  what  you  say;  but  ain't  it  a 
shame  that  when  a  man's  down  our  first  thought 
is  to  kick  him?  Always  expect  him  to  fall  again 
once  he  gets  up!  Ain't  it  rotten?" 

And  his  love  for  Young  VB,  stirred  anew  by 
this  sense  of  the  injustice  of  things,  welled  into 
his  throat,  driving  back  more  words. 

Dick  Worth  was  a  man  of  golden  integrity; 
Jed  knew  well  that  no  suspicion  would  be  cast 
on  VB.  But  the  knowledge  that  serious-minded, 
clear-thinking  men  like  the  deputy  would  always 
remember,  in  a  time  like  this,  that  those  who  had 
once  run  wild  might  fall  into  the  old  ways  at  any 
hour,  stung  him  like  a  lash. 


MURDER  191 

VB  opened  the  door. 

"Hello,  Dick!"  he  greeted  cheerily.  "Want 
me?" 

Worth  laughed  and  Jed  started. 

"No;  I  come  up  to  get  a  little  help  from  you 
if  I  can,  though." 

"Help?" 

"Kelly  was  shot  dead  in  his  bed  last  night." 

For  a  moment  VB  stared  at  him. 

"Who?" 

"That's  what  we  don't  know.  That's  what  I 
came  up  here  for  —  to  see  if  you  could  help  us." 

And  Jed,  face  averted,  drew  a  foot  quickly 
across  the  boards  of  the  floor. 

' '  One  of  Hank  Redden's  boys  was  with  him  — 
th'  one  who  took  your  place  —  until  dark.  Little 
after  eight  old  Hank  heard  two  shots,  but  did  n't 
think  nothin'  of  it.  Kelly  was  shot  twice. 
That  must  'a'  been  th'  time." 

VB  put  down  his  hat,  his  eyes  bright  with 
excitement. 

"He'd  planned  to  go  back  to  Ranger,"  he  said. 
"But,  after  being  up  most  of  the  night  before, 
he  was  too  tired.  He  told  them  at  Ranger  he'd 
be  back.  And  if  I'd  been  there  they'd  have  got 
me,"  he  ended. 

"Unless  they  was  lookin'  for  Kelly  especial," 
said  Dick.  "They  took  his  money  belt." 

"Mebby,"  muttered  Jed, —  "mebby  they  made 
a  mistake." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  CANDLE  BURNS 

TIME  went  on,  and  the  country  dropped 
back  from  the  singing  pitch  of  excitement 
to  which  the  killing  of  the  horse  buyer  raised  it. 
Men  agreed  that  some  one  of  thac  country  had 
fired  the  shots  into  that  blanket,  but  it  is  not  a 
safe  thing  to  suspect  too  openly.  Dick  Worth 
worked  continually,  but  his  efforts  were  without 
result.  A  reward  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  for  the  slayer,  dead  or  alive,  disclosed 
nothing. 

After  the  evidence  had  been  sifted,  and  each 
man  had  asked  his  quota  of  questions  and  passed 
judgment  on  the  veracity  of  the  myriad  stories, 
Dick  said  to  himself:  "We'll  settle  down  now 
and  see  who  leaves  the  country." 

Jed  and  VB  went  about  the  winter's  work  in 
a  leisurely  way.  For  days  after  the  visit  of 
Worth  the  old  man  was  quieter  than  usual.  The 
realization  of  how  the  world  looked  on  this  young 
fellow  he  had  come  to  love  had  been  driven  in 
upon  him.  There  could  be  no  mistaking  it;  and 
as  he  reasoned  the  situation  out,  he  recognized 
the  attitude  of  men  as  the  only  logical  thing  to 
expect. 

With  his  quietness  came  a  new  tenderness,  n 

192 


THE  CANDLE  BURNS  193 

deeper  devotion.  The  two  sat,  one  night,  listen 
ing  to  the  drawing  of  the  stove  and  the  whip 
of  the  wind  as  it  sucked  down  the  gulch. 
The  candle  burned  steadily  in  its  bottle.  Jed 
watched  it  a  long  time,  and,  still  gazing  at  the 
steady  flame,  he  said,  as  though  unconscious  that 
thoughts  found  vocal  expression:  "Th'  candle's 
burnin'  bright,  VB." 

The  other  looked  slowly  around  at  it  and 
smiled. 

"Yes,  Jed;  it  surely  burns  bright." 

At  the  instant  an  unusually  vicious  gust  of 
wind  rattled  the  windows  and  a  vagrant  draft 
caught  the  flame  of  the  taper,  bending  it  low, 
dulling  its  orange. 

"But  yet  sometimes,"  the  younger  man  went 
on,  "something  comes  along  —  something  that 
makes  it  flicker  —  that  takes  some  of  the  assur 
ance  from  it." 

Jed  had  started  in  his  chair  as  the  flame  bowed 
before  the  draft. 

"But  it —  You  ain't  been  flickerin'  lately, 
have  you?"  he  asked,  with  a  look  in  the  old  eyea 
that  was  beseeching. 

Young  VB  rose  and  commenced  to  walk  about 
thumbs  hooked  in  his  belt. 

"I  don't  know,  Jed,"  he  said.  "That's  th« 
whole  of  it:  I  don't  know.  Sometimes  I'm  gla<* 
I  don't ;  but  other  times  I  wish  —  wish  tha 
whatever  is  coming  would  come.  I  seem  to  bt. 
gaining;  I  can  think  of  drink  now  without  going 

13 


i94  "—I  CONQUERED" 

crazy.  Now  and  then  it  gets  hold  of  me;  but 
moving  around  and  getting  busy  stifles  it.  Still, 
I  know  it's  there.  That's  what  counts.  I  know 
I've  had  the  habit,  been  dowrn  and  out,  and 
there's  no  telling  which  way  it's  going  to  turn. 
If  I  could  ever  be  sure  of  myself;  if  I  could  ever 
come  right  up  against  it,  where  I  needed  a  drink, 
where  I  wanted  it  —  then,  if  I  could  refuse, 
I'd  be  sure." 

He  quickened  his  stride. 

"Seems  to  me  you're  worryin'  needless,"  Jed 
argued.  "Don't  you  see,  VB,  this  is  th'  worst 
night  we've  had;  th'  worst  wind.  An'  yet  it 
ain't  blowed  th'  candle  out!  It  bends  low  an' 
gets  smoky,  to  be  sure.  But  it  always  keeps 
on  shinin'!" 

"But  when  it  bends  low  and  gets  smoky  its 
resistance  is  lower,"  VB  said.  "It  wouldn't 
take  much  at  such  a  time  to  blow  it  out  and  let 
the  darkness  come  in.  You  never  can  tell,  Jed; 
you  never  can  tell." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  added :  ' '  Especially  when 
you  're  afraid  of  yourself  and  dare  n't  hunt  out 
a  test." 

Another  time  they  talked  of  the  man  that  he 
had  been  before  he  came  to  Colt.  They  were 
riding  the  hills,  the  Captain  snuggling  close  to  the 
pinto  pony  Jed  rode.  The  sun  poured  its  light 
down  on  the  white  land.  Far  away,  over  on  the 
divide,  they  could  see  huge  spirals  of  snow  picked 
up  by  the  wind  and  carried  along  countless  miles, 


GREAT  MOMENTS  203 

black's  head  and  laughed  happily  into  the  soft 
neck. 

"VB,  you're  a  fool  —  a  silly  fool!"  he  whis 
pered. 

But  if  it  was  so,  if  being  a  fool  made  him  that 
happy,  he  never  wanted  to  regain  mental  balance. 

It  was  a  big  evening  for  VB,  perhaps  the  biggest 
of  his  life.  Bob  Thorpe  and  his  family  ate  with 
the  men.  Democracy  unalloyed  was  in  his  soul. 
He  mingled  with  them  not  through  condescension, 
but  through  desire,  and  his  family  maintained 
the  same  bearing.  Not  a  cow-puncher  in  the 
country  but  who  respected  Mrs.  Thorpe  and 
Gail  and  would  welcome  an  opportunity  to  fight 
for  them. 

The  men  had  finished  their  meal  before  VB 
and  Jed  entered.  Mrs.  Thorpe  made  excuses 
and  went  out,  leaving  the  four  alone.  While 
Jed  talked  to  her  father,  Gail,  elbows  on  the 
table,  chatted  with  VB,  and  Young  VB  could 
only  stare  at  his  plate  and  snatch  a  glance  at 
her  occasionally  and  wonder  why  it  was  that 
she  so  disturbed  him. 

Later  Bob  took  Jed  into  his  office,  and  when 
Gail  and  VB  were  left  alone  the  constraint  be 
tween  them  became  even  more  painful.  Try  as 
he  would,  the  man  could  not  bring  his  scattered 
wits  together  for  coherent  speech.  Just  being 
beside  that  girl  after  her  long  absence  was  intoxi 
cating,  benumbing  his  mind,  stifling  in  him  all 
thought  and  action,  creating  a  thralldom  which 


204  "—I   CONQUERED" 

was  at  once  agony  and  peace.  An  intuitive 
sensing  of  this  helplessness  had  made  him  delay 
seeing  her  that  evening;  now  that  he  was  before 
her  he  never  wanted  to  leave;  he  wanted  only  to 
sit  and  listen  to 'her  voice  and  watch  the  alert 
expressiveness  of  her  face  —  a  mute,  humble 
worshiper. 

And  this  attitude  of  his  forced  a  reaction  on 
the  girl.  At  first  she  talked  vivaciously,  starting 
each  new  subject  with  an  enthusiasm  that  seemed 
bound  to  draw  him  out,  but  when  he  remained 
dumb  and  helpless  in  spite  of  her  best  efforts 
to  keep  the  conversation  going,  her  flow  of  words 
lagged.  Long,  wordless  intervals  followed,  and 
a  flush  came  into  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  she  too 
found  herself  woefully  self-conscious.  She  sought 
for  the  refuge  of  diversion. 

"Since  you  won't  talk  to  me,  Mr.  VB,"  she 
said  with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  "you  are  going 
to  force  me  to  play  for  you." 

"It  isn't  that  I  won't  —  I  can't,"  he  stanr 
mered.  "And  please  play." 

He  sat  back  in  his  chair,  relieved,  and  watched 
the  fine  sway  of  her  body  as  she  made  the  bigv 
full-toned  instrument  give  up  its  soul.  Music, 
that  —  not  the  tunes  that  most  girls  of  his 
acquaintance  had  played  for  him;  a  St.  Saens 
arrangement,  a  MacDowell  sketch,  a  bit  of  Nevin, 
running  from  one  theme  into  another,  easily, 
naturally,  grace  everywhere,  from  the  phrasing 
to  the  movements  of  her  firm  little  shoulders. 


GREAT  MOMENTS  205 

And  VB  found  his  self-possession  returning,  found 
that  he  was  thinking  evenly,  sanely,  under  the 
quieting  influence  of  this  music. 

Then  Gail  paused,  sitting  silent  before  the 
keyboard,  as  though  to  herald  a  coming  climax. 
She  leaned  closer  over  the  instrument  and  struck 
into  the  somber  strains  of  a  composition  of  such 
grim  power  and  beauty  that  it  seemed  to  create 
for  itself  an  oddly  receptive  attitude  in  the  man, 
sensitizing  his  emotional  nature  to  a  point  where 
its  finest  shades  were  brought  out  in  detail.  It 
went  on  and  on  through  its  various  phases  to 
the  end,  and  on  the  heavy  final  chord  the  girl's 
hands  dropped  into  her  lap.  For  a  moment  she  sat 
still  bent  toward  the  keyboard  before  turning  to 
him.  When  she  did  face  about  her  flush  was  gone. 
She  was  again  mistress  of  the  situation  and  said: 

"Well,  are  you  ever  going  to  tell  me  about 
yourself?" 

VB's  brows  were  drawn,  and  his  eyes  closed, 
but  before  he  opened  them  to  look  at  her  a 
peculiar  smile  came  over  his  face. 

"That  man  Chopin,  and  his  five-flat  prelude  — 
he  said,  and  stirred  with  a  helpless  little  gesture 
of  one  hand  as  though  no  words  could  convey 
the  appreciation  he  felt. 

"I  wonder  if  you  like  that  as  well  as  I  do?" 
she  asked. 

He  sat  forward  in  his  chair  and  looked  hard  at 
her.  The  constraint  was  wholly  gone;  he  was 
seriously  intent,  thinking  clearing,  steadily  now. 


2o6  "__I   CONQUERED" 

"I  used  to  hear  it  many  times,"  he  said  slowly, 
"and  each  time  I've  heard  it,  it  has  meant  more 
to  me.  There's  something  about  it,  deep  down, 
covered  up  by  all  those  big  tones,  that  I  never 
could  understand  —  until  now.  I  guess,"  he 
faltered,  "I  guess  I've  never  realized  how  much 
a  man  has  to  suffer  before  he  can  do  a  big  thing 
like  that.  Something  about  this,"  -with  a 
gesture  of  his  one  hand,  —  "this  house  and  these 
hills,  and  what  I've  been  through  out  here,  and 
the  way  you  play,  helps  me  to  understand  what 
an  accomplishment  like  that  must  have  cost." 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  the  blue  eyes  that  had 
become  so  grave,  and  said: 

"I  guess  we  all  have  to  suffer  to  do  big  things; 
but  did  you  ever  think  how  much  we  have  to 
suffer  to  appreciate  big  things?" 

And  she  went  on  talking  in  this  strain  with  a 
low,  even  voice,  talking  for  hours,  it  seemed,  while 
VB  listened  and  wondered  at  her  breadth  of  view, 
her  sympathy  and  understanding, 

She  was  no  longer  a  little,  sunny-haired  girl,  a 
bit  of  pretty  down  floating  along  through  life. 
Before,  he  had  looked  on  her  as  such;  true,  he 
had  known  her  as  sympathetic,  balanced,  with  a 
keen  appreciation  of  values.  But  her  look,  her 
tone,  her  insight  into  somber,  grim  truths  came 
out  with  emphasis  in  the  atmosphere  created 
by  that  music,  and  to  Young  VB,  Gail  Thorpe 
had  become  a  woman. 

A  silence  came,  and  they  sat  through  it  with 


GREAT  MOMENTS  207 

that  ease  which  comes  only  to  those  who  are  in 
harmony.  No  constraint  now,  no  flushed  faces, 
no  awkward  meeting  of  eyes.  The  new  under 
standing  which  had  come  made  even  silence 
eloquent  and  satisfying. 

Then  the  talk  commenced,  slowly  at  first, 
gradually  quickening.  It  was  of  many  things  - 
of  her  winter,  of  her  days  in  the  East,  of  her 
friends.  And  through  it  Gail  took  the  lead, 
talking  as  few  women  had  ever  talked  to  him 
before;  talking  of  personalities,  yet  deviating 
from  them  to  deduce  a  principle  here,  apply  a 
maxim  there,  and  always  showing  her  humanness 
by  building  the  points  about  individuals  and  the 
circumstances  which  surround  them. 

"Don't  you  ever  get  lonely  here?"  he  asked 
abruptly,  thinking  that  she  must  have  moments 
of  discontent  in  these  mountains  and  with  these 
people. 

"No.     Why  should  I?" 

"Well,  you've  been  used  to  things  of  a  different 
sort.  It  seems  to  be  a  little  rough  for  a  girl  — 
like  you." 

"And  why  shouldn't  a  nicer  community  be 
too  fine  for  a  girl  like  me? "  she  countered.  "I 'm 
of  this  country,  you  know.  It's  mine." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  You're  different 
from  these  people,  and  yet,"  he  went  on,  "you're 
not  like  most  women  outside,  either.  You've 
seemed  to  combine  the  best  of  the  two  extremes. 
You—" 


208  "_I  CONQUERED" 

He  looked  up  to  see  her  gazing  at  him  with  a 
light  of  triumph  in  her  face.  VB  never  knew,  but 
it  was  that  hour  for  which  she  had  waited  months, 
ever  since  the  time  when  she  declared  to  her 
father,  with  a  welling  admiration  for  the  spirit 
he  must  have,  that  he  who  broke  the  Captain 
was  a  man. 

Here  he  was  before  her,  talking  personalities, 
analyzing  her!  Four  months  before  he  would 
not  even  linger  to  say  good-by!  Surely  the  spell 
of  her  womanhood  was  on  him. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  bringing  her  hands  together. 
"So  you've  been  thinking  about  me  —  what 
sort  of  a  girl  I  am,  have  you?" 

Her  eyes  were  aflame  with  the  light  of  conquest. 

Then  she  said  soberly:  "Well,  it's  nice  :o 
have  people  taking  you  seriously,  anyhow." 

"That's  all  any  of  us  want,"  he  answered  her; 
"to  be  taken  seriously,  and  to  be  worthy  of  com 
manding  such  an  attitude  from  the  people  about 
us.  Sometimes  we  don't  realize  it  until  we've 
thrown  away  our  best  chances  and  then  —  well, 
maybe  it's  too  late." 

On  the  words  he  felt  a  sudden  misgiving,  a 
sudden  waning  of  faith.  And,  bringing  confusion 
to  his  ears,  was  the  low  voice  of  this  girl- woman 
saying:  "I  understand,  VB,  I  understand.  And 
it's  never  too  late  to  mend!" 

Her  hand  lay  in  her  lap,  and  almost  uncon 
sciously  he  reached  out  for  it.  It  came  to  meet 
his,  frankly,  quickly,  and  his  frame  was  racked 


GREAT  MOMENTS  209 

by  a  great,  dry  sob  which  came  from  the  depths 
of  his  soul. 

"Oh,  do  you  understand,  Gail?"  he  whispered 
doubtfully.  "Can  you  —  without  knowing?" 

He  had  her  hands  in  both  his  and  strained 
forward,  his  face  close  to  hers.  The  small,  firm 
fingers  clutched  his  hardened  ones  almost  des 
perately  and  the  blue  eyes,  so  wide  now,  looking 
at  him  so  earnestly,  were  filmed  with  tears. 

"I  think  I've  understood  all  along,"  she  said, 
keeping  her  voice  even  at  the  cost  of  great  effort. 
"I  don't  know  it  all  —  the  detail,  I  mean.  I 
don't  need  to.  I  know  you've  been  fighting, 
VB,  nobly,  bravely.  I  know  — 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  drew  her  up  with  him, 
pulling  her  close  to  him,  closer  and  closer.  One 
arm  slipped  down  over  her  shoulders,  uncer 
tainly,  almost  timidly.  His  face  bent  toward  hers, 
slowly,  tenderly,  and  she  lifted  her  lips  to  meet  it. 
It  was  the  great  moment  of  his  life.  Words  were 
out  of  place;  they  would  have  been  puerile,  dis 
turbing  sounds,  a  mockery  instead  of  an  agency 
to  convey  an  idea  of  the  strength  of  his  emotions. 
He  could  feel  her  breath  on  his  cheek,  and  for  an 
instant  he  hung  above  her,  delaying  the  kiss, 
trembling  with  the  tremendous  passion  within  him. 

And  then  he  backed  away  from  her  —  awk 
wardly,  threatening  to  fall,  a  limp  hand  raised 
toward  the  girl  as  though  to  warn  her  off. 

"Oh,  Gail,  forgive  me!"  he  moaned.  "Not 
yet!  Great  God,  Gail,  I'm  not  worthy!" 

14 


210  "_I   CONQUERED" 

His  hoarse  voice  mounted  and  he  stood  backed 
against  the  far  wall,  fists  clenched  and  stiff  arms 
upraised.  She  took  a  faltering  step  toward  him. 

' '  Don't ! ' '   she   begged.     ' '  You   are  —  you  - 

But  he  was  gone  into  the  night,  banging  the 
door  behind  him,  while  the  girl  leaned  against 
her  piano  and  let  the  tears  come. 

He  was  not  worthy!  He  loved;  she  knew  he 
loved;  she  had  come  to  meet  that  great  binding, 
enveloping  emotion  willingly,  frank  with  the  joy 
of  it,  as  became  her  fine  nature.  Then  he  had 
run  from  her,  and  for  her  own  sake!  All  the 
ordeals  he  had  been  through  in  those  last  months 
were  as  brief,  passing  showers  compared  with  the 
tempest  that  raged  in  him  as  he  rode  through  the 
night;  and  it  continued  through  the  hours  of  light 
and  of  darkness  for  many  days.  Young  VB  was 
a  man  who  feared  his  own  love,  and  beyond  that 
there  can  be  no  greater  horror. 

He  sought  solace  in  the  Captain,  in  driving 
himself  toward  the  high  mark  he  had  set  out  to 
attain,  but  the  ideal  exemplified  in  the  noble 
animal  seemed  more  unattainable  than  ever  and 
he  wondered  at  times  if  the  victory  he  sought 
were  not  humanly  impossible.  The  knowledge 
that  only  by  conquering  himself  could  he  keep 
his  love  for  Gail  Thorpe  unsullied  never  left  him, 
and  beside  it  a  companion  haunter  stalked  through 
and  through  his  consciousness  —  the  fact  that 
they  had  declared  themselves  to  each  other.  He 
was  carrying  not  alone  the  responsibility  of 


GREAT  MOMENTS  211 

reclaiming  his  own  life;  he  must  also  answer  for 
the  happiness  of  a  woman! 

In  those  days  came  intervals  when  he  wondered 
if  this  thing  were  really  love.  Might  it  not  be 
something  else  —  a  passing  hysteria,  a  reaction 
from  the  inner  battle?  But  he  knew  it  was  a 
love  stronger  than  his  will,  stronger  than  his 
great  tempter,  stronger  than  the  prompting  to 
think  of  the  future  when  he  saw  the  Thorpe 
automobile  coming  up  the  road  that  spring  day 
on  the  first  trip  the  girl  had  made  to  the  ranch 
that  year.  And  under  the  immense  truth  of  the 
realization  he  became  bodily  weak. 

Doubt  of  his  strength,  too,  became  more  real, 
more  insistent  than  it  had  ever  been;  its  hateful 
power  mingled  with  the  thirst,  and  his  heart 
was  rent.  What  if  that  love  should  prove 
stronger  than  this  discretion  which  he  had  re 
tained  at  such  fearful  cost,  and  drag  him  to  her 
with  the  stigma  he  still  bore  and  wreck  her! 

Gail  saw  the  constraint  in  him  the  instant  she 
left  the  car,  and  though  their  handclasp  was  firm 
and  long  and  understanding,  it  sobered  her  smile. 

She  tried  to  start  him  talking  on  many  things 
as  they  sat  alone  in  the  log  house,  but  it  was 
useless.  He  did  not  respond.  So,  turning  to  the 
subject  that  had  always  roused  him,  that  she 
knew  to  be  so  close  to  his  heart,  she  asked  for 
the  Captain. 

"In  the  corral,"  said  VB,  almost  listlessly. 
"We'll  go  out." 


212  "__I   CONQUERED" 

So  they  went  together  and  looked  through  the 
gate  at  the  great  animal.  The  Captain  stepped 
close  and  stretched  his  nose  for  Gail  to  rub, 
pushing  gently  against  her  hand  in  response. 

"Oh,  you  noble  thing!"  she  whispered  to  him. 
"When  you  die,  is  all  that  strength  of  yours  to 
be  wrasted?  Can't  it  be  given  to  some  one  else?" 

She  looked  full  on  VB,  then  down  at  the  ground, 
and  said :  "You've  never  told  me  how  you  broke 
the  Captain.  No  one  in  the  country  knows. 
They  know  that  he  almost  killed  you;  that  you 
fought  him  a  whole  week.  But  no  one  knows 
how.  Won't  —  won't  you  tell  me?  I  want  to 
know,  because  it  was  a  real  achievement  —  and 
yours." 

He  met  her  gaze  when  it  turned  upward,  and 
for  many  heartbeats  they  stood  so,  looking  at  each 
other.  Then  VB's  eyes  wavered  and  he  moved 
a  step,  leaning  on  the  bars  and  staring  moodily 
at  the  stallion. 

"It  hurts  to  think  about  it,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  like  to  remember.  That  is  why  I  have  never 
told  any  one.  It  hurt  him  and  it  hurt  me." 

She  waited  through  the  silence  that  followed 
Jor  him  to  go  on. 

"I've  worked  and  rubbed  it  and  curried  it, 
and  nursed  the  hair  to  grow  over  the  place.  It 
tooks  just  like  a  cinch  mark  now  —  like  the  mark 
of  service.  No  one  would  ever  notice.  But  it 
is  n't  a  mark  of  labor.  I  marked  the  Captain  - 
I  had  to  do  it  —  had  to  make  him  understand 


GREAT  MOMENTS  213 

me.  It  laid  his  side  open,  and  all  the  nursing, 
all  the  care  I  could  give  would  n't  make  up  for 
it.  It's  there.  The  Captain  knows  it;  so  do  I." 

She  followed  his  gaze  to  the  little  rough  spot 
far  down  on  the  sleek  side. 

"All  wild  things  have  to  be  broken,"  she  said. 
"None  of  them  ever  become  tame  of  their  own 
volition.  And  in  the  breaking  a  mark  is  invari 
ably  left.  The  memory  hurts,  but  the  mark 
means  nothing  of  itself,  once  it  is  healed.  Don't 
you  realize  that? 

"We  all  bear  marks.  The  marks  of  our  envi 
ronment,  the  marks  of  our  friends,  the  marks  of 
those  we  —  we  love.  Some  of  them  hurt  for  a 
time,  but  in  the  end  it  is  all  good.  Don't  you 
believe  that?  We  see  those  who  are  very  dear 
to  us  suffer,  and  it  marks  us;  sometimes  just 
loving  leaves  its  mark.  But  —  those  are  the 
greatest  things  in  the  world.  They're  sacred. 

"The  marks  on  a  woman  who  goes  through 
fire  for  a  man,  say ;  the  marks  of  a  —  a  mother. 
They  hurt,  but  in  the  end  they  make  the  bond 
tighter,  more  holy." 

She  waited.  Then  asked  again:  "Don't  you 
believe  that?" 

After  a  long  pause  VB  answered  in  a  peculiarly 
bitter  voice:  "I  wish  I  knew  what  I  believe— 
if  I  do  believe!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  LIE 

VB'S  eyes  burned  after  Gail  as  she  drove  away. 
He  followed  the  car  in  its  flight  until  it 
disappeared  over  the  hump  in  the  road ;  then  con 
tinued  staring  in  that  direction  with  eyes  that 
did  not  see  —  that  merely  burned  like  his  throat. 

Jed  came  up  the  gulch  with  a  load  of  wood, 
and  VB  still  stood  by  the  gate. 

"I  never  can  get  used  to  these  here  city  ways," 
he  grumbled,  "no  more'n  can  these  ponies." 

VB  noticed  casually  that  a  tug  had  been  broken 
and  was  patched  with  rope. 

"Runaway?"  he  asked,  scarcely  conscious  of 
putting  the  question. 

"Oh,  Bob  Thorpe's  girl  come  drivin'  her  auto 
mobile  along  fit  to  ram  straight  through  kingdom 
come,  an'  don't  turn  out  till  she  gets  so  close  I 
thought  we  was  done  for ;  to  be  sure,  I  did.  Peter, 
here,  took  a  jump  an'  busted  a  tug."  He  looked 
keenly  at  VB.  "Funny!"  he  remarked.  "She 
did  n't  see  me,  I  know.  An'  she  looked  as  if 
she'd  been  cryin'!" 

He  could  not  know  the  added  torture  those 
words  carried  to  the  heart  of  the  young  fellow 
battling  there  silently,  covering  up  his  agony, 
trying  to  appear  at  ease. 

214 


THE  LIE  215 

For  the  thirst  had  returned  with  manifold 
force,  augmenting  those  other  agonies  which 
racked  him.  All  former  ordeals  were  forgotten 
before  the  fury  of  this  assault.  By  the  need  of 
stimulant  he  was  subjected  to  every  fiendish 
whim  of  singing  nerves;  from  knowing  that  in 
him  was  a  love  which  must  be  killed  to  save  a 
woman  from  sacrifice  arose  a  torment  that  reached 
into  his  very  vitals. 

The  glands  of  his  mouth  stopped  functioning, 
and  it  seemed  as  though  only  one  thing  would 
take  the  cursed  dryness  from  his  tongue  and  lips. 
His  fingers  would  not  be  still;  they  kept  plucking 
and  reaching  out  for  that  hidden  chord  which 
would  draw  him  back  to  himself,  or  on  down  into 
the  depths  —  somehow,  he  did  not  care  which. 
Anything  to  be  out  of  that  killing  uncertainty! 

As  he  had  gained  in  strength  during  those 
months,  so  it  now  seemed  had  the  thirst  grown. 
It  battered  down  his  spirit,  whipped  it  to  a  pulp, 
and  dragged  it  through  the  sloughs  of  doubt  and 
despair.  His  will  —  did  he  have  a  will  ?  He 
did  not  know;  nor  did  he  seem  to  care. 

It  had  come  —  the  slipping  backward.  He 
had  battled  well,  but  now  he  could  feel  himself 
going,  little  by  little,  weakening,  fighting  out 
wardly  but  at  heart  knowing  the  futility  of  it 
all.  And  going  because  of  Gail  Thorpe!  "I 
can't  put  this  mark  on  her!"  he  moaned  against 
the  Captain's  neck.  "She  said  it  —  that  even 
those  we  love  must  bear  the  mark.  And  she 


216  "_I   CONQUERED" 

said  it  was  all  good.  She  was  wrong,  wrong! 
Such  a  thing  can't  be  good! 

"Suppose  I  did  keep  above  it,  was  sure  of  my 
self  for  a  time  in  a  sham  way,  would  n't  it  only  be 
running  the  risk  of  a  greater  disaster?  Would  n't 
it  surely  come  some  time?  Would  n't  it,  if  - 

"And  then  it  would  kill  her,  too!" 

He  hammered  the  Captain's  shoulder  with  his 
clenched  fist  and  the  great  stallion  snuggled  his 
cheek  closer  to  the  man,  trying  to  understand, 
trying  to  comfort. 

Then  would  come  moments  when  his  will 
rallied  and  Young  VB  fought  with  the  ferocity 
of  a  jungle  cat,  walking  back  and  forth  across  the 
corral,  talking  to  the  Captain,  condemning  his 
weaker  self,  gesticulating,  promising.  At  those 
times  he  doubted  whether  it  was  so  much  the 
actual  thirst  that  tore  him  as  it  was  wondering 
if  he  could  be  worthy  of  her.  Then  the  old 
desire  would  come  again,  in  an  engulfing  wave, 
and  his  fighting  would  become  empty  words. 

Jed,  who  had  ridden  up  the  gulch  to  look  after 
a  gap  in  the  fence,  returned  at  dusk.  As  he 
watched  VB  feed  the  Captain  he  saw  in  the  gloom 
the  straining  of  the  boy's  face;  heard  him  talk 
to  the  stallion  piteously;  and  the  old  man's  lips 
framed  silent  words. 

"If  it's  that  girl,"  he  declared,  shaking  his 
fist  at  the  skies — "if  it's  that  girl,  she  ought 
to  be  —  ought  to  be  spanked.  An'  if  it 's  th' 
wantin'  of  whisky,  God  pity  th'  boy!" 


THE  LIE  217 

Supper  was  a  curious  affair.  VB  tried  to  help 
in  the  preparation  but  spoiled  everything  he 
touched,  so  far  removed  was  his  mind  from  the 
work  of  his  hands.  Jed  ate  alone.  VB  sat 
down,  but  could  not  touch  the  food  offered.  He 
gulped  coffee  so  steaming  hot  that  Jed  cried  aloud 
a  warning. 

"Burned?"  scoffed  VB.  "Burned  by  that 
stuff?  Jed,  you  don't  know  what  burning  is!" 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  paced  the  floor,  one  hand 
pressed  against  his  throat. 

The  boy  sat  down  twice  again  and  drank 
from  the  cup  the  old  man  kept  filled,  but  his  lips 
rebelled  at  food;  his  hands  would  not  carry  it 
from  the  plate. 

Once  Jed  rose  and  tried  to  restrain  the  pacing. 

"VB,  boy,"  he  implored,  "set  down  an'  take 
it  easy.  Please  do!  It's  been  bad  before,  you 
know,  but  it 's  always  turned  out  good  in  th'  end. 
It  will  this  time  —  same  as  always.  Just  — 

"Don't,  Jed."  He  spoke  weakly,  averting  his 
white  face  and  pushing  the  old  man  away  gently 
with  trembling  hands.  "You  don't  understand; 
you  don't  understand!" 

For  the  first  time  he  was  beyond  comfort  from 
the  little  old  man  who  had  showed  him  the  lighted 
way,  who  had  encouraged  and  comforted  and. 
held  faith  in  him. 

After  a  while  a  calm  fell  on  VB  and  he  stopped 
his  walking,  helped  with  the  work,  and  then  sat, 
still  and  white,  in  his  chair.  Jed  watched  him 


ai8  "_I   CONQUERED" 

narrowly  and  comfort  came  to  the  old  soul,  for 
he  believed  the  boy  had  won  another  fight  over 
the  old  foe;  was  so  sure  of  it  that  he  whistled  as 
he  prepared  for  the  night. 

The  candle  burned  on,  low  against  the  neck 
of  the  bottle,  but  still  bright  and  steady.  VB 
watched  it,  fascinated,  thought  tagging  thought 
through  his  mind.  Then  a  tremor  shot  through 
his  body. 

"Jed,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  was  strained  but 
even,  "let's  play  a  little  pitch,  won't  you?" 

It  was  his  last  hope,  the  last  attempt  to  divert 
the  attack  on  his  will  and  bolster  his  waning  forces. 
His  nerves  jumped  and  cringed  and  quivered,  but 
outwardly  he  was  calm,  his  face  drawn  to  mask 
the  torture. 

Jed,  aroused,  rubbed  his  sleepy  eyes  and  lighted 
his  pipe.  He  put  on  his  steel-rimmed  spectacles 
and  took  down  the  greasy,  cornerless  deck  of 
cards  to  shuffle  them  slowly,  with  method,  as 
though  it  were  a  rite. 

VB  sat  motionless  and  a  little  limp  in  his  chair, 
too  far  from  the  table  for  comfortable  playing. 
Jed  peered  at  him  over  his  glasses. 

"You  might  get  th'  coffee  beans,"  he  said,  with 
a  great  yawn. 

When  the  other  did  not  answer  he  said  again: 
"You  might  get  th'  coffee  beans,  VB.  Sleepy?" 

The  young  chap  arose  then  to  follow  the  sug 
gestion,  but  ignored  the  query.  He  went  to  the 
cupboard  and  brought  back  a  handful  of  the 


THE   LIE  219 

beans,  the  cowman's  poker  chips.  His  hand  was 
waiting  for  him. 

"Good  deal?"  Jed  asked. 

VB  shook  his  head.  "Not  better  than  a 
couple." 

"O-ho,  I'm  better  off!"  and  Jed  slammed 
down  the  ace  of  hearts. 

VB  leaned  low  and  played  the  four-spot,  almost 
viciously,  gritting  his  teeth  to  force  his  mind  into 
the  game.  It  rebelled,  told  him  the  uselessness 
of  such  things,  the  hopelessness  before  him,  tried 
to  play  on  the  ajidness  of  his  throat.  But  for 
the  moment  his  will  was  strong  and  he  followed 
the  game  as  though  gambling  for  a  life. 

Suddenly  the  thought  surged  through  him 
that  he  was  gambling  for  a  life  —  his  own  life, 
and  possibly  for  a  woman's  life! 

Jed  made  his  points,  and  again,  on  his  own  bid, 
he  swept  up  the  coffee  counters.  Then  he  took 
off  his  glasses  and  laid  them  aside  with  another 
yawn. 

VB  wanted  to  cry  aloud  to  him  to  keep  on 
playing ;  he  wanted  to  let  Jed  Avery  know  all 
that  the  simple,  foolish  little  game  of  cards  meant 
to  him.  But  somehow  his  waning  faith  had 
taken  with  it  the  power  to  confide. 

Jed  made  four  inexcusable  blunders  in  playing 
that  hand,  and  each  time  his  muttered  apologies 
became  shorter.  When  the  hand  was  over  and 
he  had  won  a  point  he  did  not  notice  that  the  boy 
failed  to  give  him  the  counter. 


220  "_I  CONQUERED" 

VB  dealt,  picked  up  his  cards,  and  waited  for 
the  bid.  But  Jed's  chin  was  on  his  breast,  one 
hand  lay  loosely  over  the  scattered  cards  before 
him;  the  other  hung  at  his  side  limply.  His 
breath  came  and  went  regularly.  Sleep  had 
stolen  in  on  VB's  final  stand! 

Oh,  if  Jed  Avery  had  only  known!  If  his 
kindly  old  heart  had  only  read  VB  better,  divining 
the  difference  between  calm  and  peace!  For  a 
long  time  VB  looked  at  the  old  man,  his  breath 
gradually  quickening,  the  flame  in  his  eyes  grow 
ing  sharper,  more  keen,  as  the  consuming  fire  in 
him  ate  away  the  last  barriers  of  resistance. 
Once  his  gaze  went  to  the  candle,  burning  so  low 
against  the  bottle,  yet  so  brightly,  its  molten 
wax  running  dowrn  and  adding  to  the  incrustment. 
He  stared  wanly  at  the  bright  little  beacon  and 
shook  his  head,  terror  wiping  out  the  vestiges 
of  a  smile. 

Action!  That  was  what  he  wanted!  Action! 
He  must  move  or  lose  his  mind  and  babble  and 
scream !  He  must  move  and  move  rapidly  — 
as  rapidly  as  the  rush  of  those  thoughts  through 
his  inflamed  mind. 

He  trembled  in  every  limb  as  he  sat  there, 
realizing  the  need  for  bodily  activity. 

And  yet,  guilefully,  craftily,  softly,  that  voice 
down  within  him  told  that  action  could  be  of 
only  one  sort,  could  take  him  only  in  one  direc 
tion.  It  whined  and  wheedled  and  gave  him  a 
cowardly  assurance,  made  him  lie  in  his  own 


THE  LIE  221 

thoughts;  made  him  cautious  in  his  sneaking 
determination,  for  he  knew  any  question  Jed 
•night  ask  would  bring  frenzy. 

VB  rose,  slowly,  carefully,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  creaking  of  the  boots  or  scraping  of  chair 
legs.  He  picked  up  his  hat,  his  muffler,  his 
jumper,  and  moved  stealthily  toward  the  door, 
opened  it  inch  by  inch,  and  shut  it  behind  him 
quickly,  silently,  cutting  off  the  draft  of  night 
air  —  for  such  a  thing  might  be  as  disastrous  as 
a  cry  aloud. 

The  moon  rode  above  the  ridge  and  the  air 
had  lost  its  winter's  edge.  It  was  mild,  but  with 
the  tang  of  mountain  nights.  It  was  quiet  below, 
but  as  he  stood  in  the  open,  pulling  on  his  jumper, 
he  heard  the  stirring  of  wind  on  the  points  above. 
It  was  a  soughing,  the  sort  of  wind  that  makes  stock 
uneasy;  and  VB  caught  that  disquieting  vibration. 

He  stepped  out  from  the  cabin  and  a  soft  call 
ing  from  the  corral  reached  him. 

"Coming,   Captain,  coming,"  he  answered. 

And  with  a  guilty  glance  behind  him  he  felt 
for  the  gun  nestling  against  his  side.  His  jaw- 
muscles  tightened  as  he  assured  himself  it  was 
fastened  there  securely. 

The  Captain  was  waiting  at  the  gate.  VB  let 
it  swing  open,  then  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
saddle  rack.  The  horse  followed  closely,  ears  up 
as  though  in  wonder  at  this  procedure. 

"It's  all  right,  Captain,"  VB  whispered  as  he 
threw  on  the  saddle  blanket.  As  he  drew  the 


222  "_I   CONQUERED" 

cinch  tight  he  muttered:     "Or  else  all  wrong !'" 

Action,  action!  his  body  begged.  He  must 
have  it;  nothing  else  would  suffice!  He  wanted 
to  fly  along,  skimming  the  tops  of  those  ghost 
bushes,  ripping  through  the  night,  feeling  the 
ripple  of  wind  on  that  throat,  the  cooling  currents 
of  air  against  those  hammering  temples. 

And  VB  knew  it  was  a  lie !  A  rank,  deliberate, 
hypocritical  lie!  He  knew  what  that  action 
meant,  he  knew  in  what  direction  it  would  take 
him.  He  knew;  he  knew! 

"Oh,  Captain!"  he  sobbed,  drawing  the  bridled 
head  against  his  chest.  "You  know  what  it  is 
to  fight!  You  know  what  it  is  to  yield!  But 
the  yielding  did  n't  break  you,  boy!  It  could  n't. 
You  were  too  big,  too  great  to  be  broken;  they 
could  only  bend  and  — ' 

With  a  breath  of  nervous  rage  he  was  in  the 
saddle.  The  Captain's  feet  rattled  on  the  hard 
ground  with  impatience.  An  instant  VB  hesi 
tated,  gathering  the  reins,  separating  them  from 
the  strands  of  thick  mane.  Then,  leaning  low, 
uttering  a  throaty  wail,  he  gave  the  Captain  his 
head  and  into  the  veiled  night  they  bolted. 

The  cattle  were  coming  on  him,  and  he  was 
powerless  to  move!  They  were  bunched,  run 
ning  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  his  bed  was  in 
their  path !  Jed  tried  to  raise  his  arms  and  could 
barely  move  them;  his  legs  rebelled.  The  stam 
pede  was  roaring  at  him!  Oh,  the  rumble  of 


THE  LIE  223 

those  hoofs,  those  sharp,  cloven,  blind,  merciless 
hoofs,  that  would  mangle  and  tear  and  trample! 

Jed  Avery  awoke  with  a  start.  He  was  on  his 
feet  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  before  conscious 
ness  came,  gasping  quickly  at  the  horror  of  his 
dream,  his  excited  heart  racing! 

But  it  was  no  stampede.  Running  hoofs,  but 
no  stampede!  He  stumbled  to  the  door  and 
flung  it  open.  His  old  eyes  caught  the  flash  of 
a  lean,  dark  object  as  it  raced  across  the  door- 
yard  straight  at  the  gate,  never  pausing,  never 
hesitating,  and  taking  the  bars  with  a  sturdy 
leap  that  identified  the  horse  instantly. 

"VB!" 

He  called  the  name  shrilly  into  the  night,  but 
his  cry  was  drowned  to  the  rider's  ears,  for  the 
Captain's  hoofs  had  caught  ground  again  and 
were  spurning  it  viciously  as  he  clawed  for  the 
speed,  the  action,  that  was  to  satisfy  the  outraged 
nerves  of  his  master! 

That  lie!  It  was  not  the  action  that  would 
satisfy.  The  flight  was  only  an  accessory,  an 
agency  that  would  transport  VB  to  the  scene 
of  the  renunciation  of  all  that  for  which  he  had 
battled  through  those  long  months. 

For  a  long  moment  Jed  stood  in  the  doorway 
as  he  had  poised  at  first,  stiff,  rigid.  The  sounds 
of  the  rushing  horse  diminuendoed  quickly  and 
became  only  a  murmur  in  the  night.  Jed  Avery's 
figure  lost  its  tensity,  went  slack,  and  he  leaned 
limply  against  the  door  frame. 


224  "—I   CONQUERED" 

"He's  gone!"  he  moaned.  "He's  gone!  It's 
broke  in  on  him—  Oh,  VB,  I'm  afraid  it  has! 
No  good  takes  you  south  at  this  time,  after 
th'  spell  you've  had!" 

He  slammed  the  door  shut  and  turned  back 
into  the  room.  Unsteady  feet  took  him  to  his 
chair,  and  he  settled  into  it  heavily,  leaning  against 
the  table,  his  eyes  registering  the  sight  of  no 
objects. 

"He  was  fightin'  harder 'n  ever,"  he  whispered 
dryly,  "an"  I  set  here  sleepin'.  To  be  sure,  I 
wasn't  on  hand  when  VB  needed  me  most!" 

The  ending  of  his  self-accusation  was  almost 
a  sob,  and  his  head  dropped  forward.  He  sat 
like  that  for  an  hour.  The  fire  in  the  stove  went 
out,  and  the  cool  of  night  penetrated  the  log  walls 
of  the  cabin.  He  gazed  unblinkingly  at  the 
floor;  now  and  then  his  lips  formed  soundlesf 
words. 

The  candle,  burning  low,  fed  the  flame  too 
fiercely  with  the  last  bit  of  itself.  The  neck  of 
the  bottle  was  a  globule  of  molten  wax  in  which 
the  short  wick  swam.  The  flame  had  become 
larger,  but  it  was  dead  and  the  smoke  rose  thickly 
from  its  heavy  edges.  The  grease  seemed  to  be 
disturbed.  It  quivered,  steadied,  then  settled. 
The  flame  slipped  down  the  neck  of  the  bottle  and 
was  snuffed  out  by  the  confines  of  the  thing. 

Jed  A  very  drew  a  long,  quivering  breath,  d 
breath  of  horror.  He  turned  his  face  toward 
the  place  where  the  light  had  been,  hoping  that 


THE  LIE  225 

his  sight  had  failed.  Then  he  reached  out  and 
found  the  bottle.  His  hard  fingers  ran  over  it, 
felt  the  empty  neck,  paused,  and  drew  away  as 
though  it  were  an  infectious  thing. 

The  old  man  sagged  forward  to  the  table,  his 
face  in  his  arms. 


15 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THROUGH  THE  NIGHT 

ON  into  the  night  went  the  Captain,  bearing 
VB.  Over  the  gate  the  bridle-rein  drew 
against  his  neck  and  the  big  beast  swung  to 
the  right,  following  the  road  southward,  on  down 
the  gulch,  on  toward  Ranger  —  a  fierceness  in  his 
rider's  heart  that  was  suicidal. 

All  the  bitterness  VB  had  endured,  from  the 
stinging  torrent  his  father  turned  upon  him  back 
in  New  York  to  the  flat  realization  that  to  let 
himself  love  Gail  Thorpe  might  bring  him  into 
worse  hells,  surged  up  into  his  throat  and  mingled 
with  the  craving  there.  It  seeped  through  into 
his  mind,  perverted  his  thoughts,  stamped  down 
the  optimism  that  had  held  him  up,  shattered 
what  remnants  of  faith  still  remained. 

"Faster,   Captain!"   he  cried.     "Faster!" 

And  the  stallion  responded,  scudding  through 
the  blue  moonlight  with  a  speed  that  seemed 
beyond  the  power  of  flesh  to  attain.  He  shook 
his  fine  head  and  stretched  out  the  long  nose  as 
though  the  very  act  of  thrusting  it  farther  would 
give  more  impetus  to  his  thundering  hoofs. 

VB  sat  erect  in  the  saddle,  a  fierce  delight 
aroused  by  the  speed  running  through  his  veins 
like  fire  —  and,  reaching  to  his  throat,  adding  to 

226 


THROUGH  THE  NIGHT  227 

the  scorching.  He  swung  his  right  hand  rhyth 
mically,  keeping  time  to  the  steady  roll  of  the 
stallion's  feet.  The  wind  tore  at  him,  vibrating 
his  hat  brim,  whipping  the  long  muffler  out  from 
his  neck,  and  he  shook  his  head  against  it. 

He  was  free  at  last!  Free  after  those  months 
of  doubt,  of  foolish  fighting!  He  was  answering 
the  call  that  came  from  the  depths  of  his  true 
self  —  that  hidden  self  —  the  call  of  flesh  that 
needs  aid!  He  cared  not  for  the  morrow,  for 
the  stretching  future.  His  one  thought  was  on 
the  now  —  on  the  rankling,  eating,  festering 
moment  that  needed  only  one  thing  to  be  wiped 
out  forever. 

And  always,  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  was  the 
picture  of  Gail  Thorpe  as  she  had  turned  from 
him  that  afternoon.  It  loomed  large  and  larger 
as  he  tore  on  to  the  south  through  the  solitude, 
ripping  his  way  through  the  cool  murk. 

"I  won't  put  my  mark  on  her!"  he  cried,  and 
whipped  the  Captain's  flanks  with  his  heavy 
hat,  the  thought  setting  his  heart  flaming.  "I 
won't!"  he  cried.  And  again,  "I  won't!" 

He  was  riding  down  into  his  particular  depths 
so  to  stultify  himself  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  risk  that  woman's  happiness  against  the  chance 
that  some  time,  some  day,  he  would  go  down, 
loving  her,  making  her  know  he  loved  her,  but 
fighting  without  gain.  That,  surely,  is  one  sort 
of  love,  faulty  though  the  engendering  spirit 
may  be. 


228  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  whipping  with  the  hat  sent  the  horse  on 
to  still  greater  endeavor.  A  slight  weariness 
commenced  to  show  in  the  ducking  of  his  head 
with  every  stride,  but  he  did  not  slacken  his  pace. 
His  ears  were  still  set  stiffly  forward,  flipping 
back,  one  after  the  other,  for  word  from  his  rider; 
the  spurn  of  his  feet  was  still  sharp  and  clear 
and  unfaltering;  the  spirit  in  that  rippling,  drip 
ping  body  still  ran  high. 

And  closing  his  eyes,  drinking  the  night  air 
through  his  mouth  in  great  gulps,  VB  let  the 
animal  carry  him  on  and  on,  —  yet  backward, 
back  into  the  face  of  all  that  fighting  he  had 
summoned,  doubling  on  his  own  tracks,  slipping 
so  easily  down  the  way  he  had  blazed  upward 
with  awful  sacrifice  and  hardship. 

An  hour  —  two  —  nine  —  eleven  —  the  Cap 
tain  might  have  been  running  so  a  week,  and  VB 
would  not  have  known.  His  mind  was  not  on 
time,  not  on  his  horse.  He  had  ceased  to  think 
beyond  the  recognition  of  a  craving,  a  craving 
that  he  did  not  fight  but  encouraged,  nursed, 
teased  —  for  it  was  going  to  be  satisfied ! 

The  stallion's  pace  began  to  slacken.  He 
wearied.  The  bellows  lungs,  the  heart  of  steel, 
the  legs  of  tireless  sinew  began  to  feel  the  strain 
of  that  long  run.  The  run  waned  to  a  gallop, 
and  the  gallop  to  a  trot.  There  his  breathing 
becoming  easier,  he  blew  loudly  from  his  nostrils 
as  though  to  distend  them  farther  and  make 
way  for  the  air  he  must  have. 


THROUGH   THE   NIGHT  229 

VB  realized  this  dully  but  his  heeding  of  that 
devilish  inner  call  had  taken  him  so  far  from 
his  more  tender  self,  from  his  instinctive  desire 
to  love  and  understand,  that  he  did  not  follow 
out  his  comprehension. 

"Go  it,  boy!"  he  muttered.  "It's  all  I'll  ask 
of  you  —  just  this  one  run." 

And  the  Captain,  dropping  an  ear  back  for 
the  word,  leaned  to  the  task,  resuming  the 
steady,  space-eating  gallop  mile  after  mile.  All 
the  way  into  Ranger  they  held  that  pace.  In  the 
last  mile  the  stallion  stumbled  twice,  but  after 
both  breaks  in  his  stride  ran  on  more  swiftly 
for  many  yards,  as  though  to  make  up  to  his 
master  for  the  jolting  the  half  falls  gave  him. 
He  was  a  bit  unsteady  on  those  feet  as  he  took 
the  turn  and  dropped  down  the  low  bank  into  the 
river.  They  forded  it  in  a  shimmer  of  silver  as 
the  horse's  legs  threw  out  the  black  water  to  be 
frozen  and  burnished  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
The  stallion  toiled  up  the  far  bank  at  a  lagging 
trot,  and  on  the  flat  VB  pulled  the  panting  animal 
down  to  a  walk. 

Oh,  VB,  it  was  not  too  late  then,  had  you  only 
realized  it!  Your  ideal  was  still  there,  more 
exemplary  than  ever  before,  but  you  could  not 
recognize  it  through  those  eyes  which  saw  only 
the  red  of  a  wrecking  passion!  You  had  drained 
to  the  last  ounce  of  reserve  the  strength  of  that 
spirit  you  had  so  emulated,  which  had  been  as 
a  shining  light,  an  unfaltering  candle  in  the 


23o  "__I   CONQUERED" 

darkness.  It  was  stripped  bare  before  you  as 
that  splendid  animal  gulped  between  breaths. 
Could  you  have  but  seen!  Could  something 
only  have  made  you  see!  But  it  was  not  to  be. 

VB  had  forgotten  the  Captain.  In  the  face 
of  his  wretched  weakening  the  stallion  became 
merely  a  conveyance,  a  convenience,  a  means  for 
stifling  the  neurotic  excitement  within  him.  He 
forgot  that  this  thing  he  rode  represented  his 
only  achievement  —  an  achievement  such  as  few 
men  ever  boast. 

He  guided  the  stallion  to  a  half-wrecked  log 
house  south  of  the  road,  dismounted,  and  stood 
a  moment  before  the  shack,  his  glittering  eyes  on 
the  squares  of  light  yonder  under  the  rising  hill. 
He  heard  a  faint  tinkling  from  the  place,  and  a 
voice  raised  in  laughter. 

As  he  watched,  a  mounted  man  passed  between 
him  and  the  yellow  glare.  In  a  moment  he  saw 
the  man  enter  the  saloon  door. 

"Come,  boy,"  he  muttered,  moving  cautiously 
through  the  opening  into  the  place.  "You'll 
be  warm  in  here.  You'll  cool  off  slowly." 

Then,  in  a  burst  of  hysterical  passion,  he  threw 
his  arms  about  the  stallion's  head  and  drew  it 
to  him  fiercely. 

"Oh,  I  won't  be  gone  long,  Captain!"  he 
promised.  "Not  long  —  just  a  little  while.  It's 
not  the  worst,  Captain!  I'm  not  weakening!" 

Drunk  with  the  indulgence  of  his  nervous 
weakness,  he  lied  glibly,  knowing  he  lied,  without 


THROUGH  THE  NIGHT  231 

object — just  to  lie,  to  pervert  life.  And  as  the 
Captain's  quick,  hot  breath  penetrated  his  gar 
ments,  VB  drew  the  head  still  tighter. 

"You're  all  I've  got,  Captain,"  he  muttered, 
now  in  a  trembling  calm.  "You '11  wait.  I  know 
that.  I  know  what  you  will  do  better  than  I 
know  anything  else  in  the  world  —  better  than 
I  know  what —  what  /'//  do!  Wait  for  me,  boy 
—  wait  right  here!" 

His  voice  broke  on  the  last  word  as  he  stumbled 
through  the  door  and  set  off  toward  the  building 
against  the  hill.  He  did  not  hear  the  Captain 
turn,  walk  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  shack,  and 
peer  after  him  anxiously.  Nor  did  he  see  the 
figure  of  a  man  halted  in  the  road,  watching  him 
go  across  the  flat,  chaps  flapping,  brushing  through 
the  sage  noisily. 

VB  halted  in  the  path  of  light,  swaying  the 
merest  trifle  from  side  to  side  as  he  pulled  his 
chap  belt  in  another  hole  and  tried  to  still 
the  twitching  of  his  hands,  the  weakening  of  his 
knees. 

The  tinkling  he  had  heard  became  clear.  He 
could  see  now.  A  Mexican  squatted  on  his 
spurs,  back  against  the  wall,  and  twanged  a 
fandango  on  a  battered  guitar.  His  hat  was  far 
back  over  his  head,  cigarette  glowing  in  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  gay  blue  muffler  loose  on  his  shoul 
ders.  He  hummed  to  the  music,  his  voice  rising 
now  and  then  to  float  out  into  the  night  above 
the  other  sounds  from  the  one  room. 


232  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  bar  of  rough  boards,  top  covered  with 
red  oilcloth,  stretched  along  one  side.  Black 
bottles  flashed  their  high  lights  from  a  shelf 
behind  it,  above  which  hung  an  array  of  antlers. 
The  bartender,  broad  Stetson  shading  his  face, 
talked  loudly,  his  hands  wide  apart  on  the  bar  and 
bearing  much  of  his  weight.  Now  and  then  he 
dropped  his  head  to  spit  between  his  forearms. 

Three  men  in  chaps  lounged  before  the  bar, 
talking.  One,  the  tallest,  talked  with  his  head 
flung  back  and  gestures  that  were  a  trifle  too  loose. 
The  shortest  looked  into  his  face  with  a  ceaseless, 
senseless  smile,  and  giggled  whenever  the  voice 
rose  high  or  the  gestures  became  unusually  wild. 
The  third,  elbows  on  the  oilcloth,  head  on  his 
fists,  neither  joined  in  nor  appeared  to  heed  the 
conversation. 

Back  in  the  room  stood  two  tables,  both 
covered  with  green  cloth.  One  was  unused;  the 
other  accommodated  four  men.  Each  of  the 
quartet  wore  a  hat  drawn  low  over  his  face;  each 
held  cards.  They  seldom  spoke;  when  they  did, 
their  voices  were  low.  VB  saw  only  their  lips 
move.  Their  motions  were  like  the  words  —  few 
and  abrupt.  When  chips  were  counted  it  was 
with  expertness;  when  they  were  shoved  to  the 
center  of  the  table  it  was  with  finality. 

Near  them,  tilted  against  the  wall  in  a  wire- 
trussed  chair,  sat  a  sleeping  man,  hat  on  the  floor. 

Two  swinging  oil  lamps  lighted  the  smoke- 
fogged  air  of  the  place,  and  their  glow  seemed 


THROUGH   THE  NIGHT  233 

to    be    diffused    by    it,    idealizing    everything, 
softening    it  — 

Everything  except  the  high  lights  from  the 
bottles  on  the  shelf.  Those  were  stabs  of  searing 
brightness;  they  hurt  VB's  eyeballs. 

His  gaze  traveled  back  to  the  Mexican.  The 
melody  had  drifted  from  the  fandango  into  a 
swinging  waltz  song  popular  in  the  cities  four 
years  before.  He  whistled  the  air  through  his 
teeth.  The  cigarette  was  still  between  his  lips. 
The  face  brought  vague  recollections  to  VB. 
Then  he  remembered  that  this  was  Julio,  the 
Mexican  who  ran  with  Rhues.  He  belonged  to 
Rhues,  they  had  told  him,  body  and  soul. 

Thought  of  Rhues  sent  VB's  right  hand  to 
his  left  side,  up  under  the  arm.  He  squeezed 
the  gun  that  nestled  there. 

Of  a  sudden,  nausea  came  to  the  man  who 
looked  in.  It  was  not  caused  by  fear  of  Rhues  — 
of  the  possibility  of  an  encounter.  The  poignant 
fumes  that  came  from  the  open  door  stirred  it, 
and  the  sickness  was  that  of  a  man  who  sees  his 
great  prize  melt  away. 

For  the  moment  VB  wanted  to  rebel.  He 
tore  his  eyes  from  those  glittering  bottles;  tried 
to  stop  his  breathing  that  treacherous  nostrils 
might  not  inhale  those  odors. 

But  it  was  useless  —  his  feet  would  not  carry 
him  away.  He  knew  he  must  move,  move  soon, 
and  though  he  now  cried  out  in  his  heart  against 
it  he  knew  which  way  his  feet  would  carry  him. 


234  "—I   CONQUERED" 

He  half  turned  his  body  and  looked  back 
toward  the  shack  where  the  Captain  waited,  and 
a  tightening  came  in  his  throat  to  mingle  with 
the  rapaciousness  there. 

"Just  a  little  while,   Captain,"  he  whispered, 
feeling  childishly  that  the  horse  would  hear  the 
words  and  understand.     "Just  a  little  while  - 
I  'm  just  —  just  going  to  take  a  little  hand  in  the 
card  game." 

And  as  the  Mexican  finished  his  waltz  with  a 
rip  of  the  thumb  clear  across  the  six  strings  of 
his  instrument,  Young  VB  put  a  foot  on  the 
threshold  of  the  saloon  and  slowly  drew  himself 
to  his  full  height  in  the  doorway.  Framed  by 
darkness  he  stood  there,  thumbs  in  his  belt, 
mouth  in  a  grim  line,  hat  down  to  hide  the  pallor 
of  his  cheeks,  the  torment  in  his  eyes;  his  shoulders 
were  braced  back  in  resolution,  but  his  knees, 
inside  his  generous  chaps,  trembled. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  LAST  STAND 

T^VEN  the  vibrating  guitar  strings  seemed  to  be 
-*—'  stilled  suddenly.  For  VB,  an  abrupt  hush 
crushed  down  on  the  scene.  He  felt  the  eyes  as, 
pair  after  pair,  they  followed  those  of  the  Mexican 
and  gazed  at  him;  even  the  man  slumbering  in 
his  chair  awoke,  raised  his  head,  and  stared  at 
him  sleepily.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  leaning 
lightly  against  the  logs,  returning  each  gaze  in 
turn. 

"Hello,  VB!"  one  of  the  trio  before  the  bar 
said. 

"Hello,    Tom!"    answered    the    newcomer  - 
and  stepped  into  the  room. 

Then  what  hush  had  fallen  —  real  or  imagi 
nary  —  lifted  and  the  talk  went  on,  the  game 
progressed. 

Perhaps  the  talk  was  not  fully  sincere,  possibly 
the  thoughts  of  the  speakers  were  not  always  on 
their  words,  for  every  man  in  the  place  stole 
glances  at  the  tall  young  fellow  as  he  moved 
slowly  about  the  room. 

They  had  known  for  months  the  fight  that  was 
going  on  up  there  on  Jed  Avery's  ranch.  They 
knew  that  the  man  who  had  mastered  the  Captain 
and  set  his  name  forever  in  the  green  annals  of 

235 


236  "_I   CONQUERED" 

the  country  had  been  fighting  to  command  him 
self  against  the  attacks  of  the  stuff  they  peddled 
here  in  the  saloon  at  Ranger.  They  knew  how 
he  had  fought  off  temptation,  avoided  contact 
with  whisky  —  and  now,  late  at  night,  he  had 
walked  slowly  into  the  heart  of  the  magnet  that 
had  exerted  such  an  influence  on  him.  So  they 
watched  VB  as  he  moved  about. 

The  sharp  lights  from  those  black  bottles! 
Like  snakes'  eyes,  they  commanded  his  —  and, 
when  this  power  had  been  exerted,  they  seemed 
to  stab  the  brain  that  directed  sight  at  them.  In 
the  first  few  steps  across  the  rough  floor  VB 
answered  their  call  to  look  a  half  dozen  times, 
and  after  each  turning  of  his  gaze  jerked  his  eyes 
away  in  pain. 

He  did  not  turn  toward  the  bar  —  rather,  kept 
close  to  the  wall,  passing  so  near  the  squatting 
Mexican  that  the  flap  of  his  chaps  brushed  the 
other's  knees.  The  Greaser  picked  at  the  strings 
of  his  instrument  aimlessly,  striking  unrelated 
chords,  tinkling  on  a  single  string;  then  came  a 
few  bars  from  the  fandango.  His  head  was 
tilted  to  one  side  and  a  glittering  eye  followed  the 
slow-moving  figure  of  Young  VB. 

By  the  time  the  newcomer  was  halfway  toward 
the  poker  table  the  Mexican  got  to  his  feet,  slid 
ing  his  back  slowly  up  the  wall  until  he  reached  a 
standing  position.  Then,  for  the  first  time  taking 
his  eyes  from  VB,  he  stepped  lightly  toward  the 
door.  After  a  final  tinkling  chord  had  fallen  he 


THE   LAST  STAND  237 

disappeared,  guitar  slung  under  one  arm,  walking 
slowly  away  from  the  lighted  place.  But  when 
he  was  beyond  sight  of  those  within,  he  ran. 

VB  went  on,  past  the  just-awakened  man  in 
his  chair,  close  to  the  poker  table.  The  players 
looked  up  again,  first  one,  with  a  word  of  recog 
nition;  then  two  spoke  at  once,  and  after  he  had 
raked  in  the  pot  the  fourth  nodded  with  a  wel 
coming  grunt. 

The  young  fellow  leaned  a  shoulder  against  the 
log  wall  and  watched  the  game.  That  is,  he 
looked  at  it.  But  continually  his  fevered  memory 
retained  a  vision  of  those  glares  from  the  bottles. 

His  mind  again  played  crazy  tricks,  as  it 
always  did  when  the  thirst  clamored  loudly. 
The  rattle  of  the  chips  sounded  like  ice  in  glasses, 
and  he  turned  his  head  quickly  toward  the  bar, 
following  the  imaginary  sound. 

The  four  men  there  were  just  drinking.  He 
followed  their  movements  with  wild  eyes.  The 
bartender  lifted  his  glass  to  the  level  of  his  fore 
head  in  salute,  then  drained  its  contents  slowly, 
steadily,  every  movement  from  the  lifting  to 
the  setting  down  of  the  empty  glass  smooth, 
deliberate  —  even  polished  —  the  movements  of 
a  professedly  artful  drinker.  The  silent  man 
offered  no  good  word  —  merely  lifted  the  glass 
and  drank,  tipping  his  head  but  slightly,  empty 
ing  the  glass  with  an  uneven  twisting  of  the 
wrist,  something  like  an  exaggerated  tremble. 
The  short  man  tossed  his  drink  off  by  elevating 


238  "_I   CONQUERED" 

the  glass  quickly  to  his  lips  and  throwing  his 
head  back  with  a  jerk  to  empty  it  into  his  mouth. 
The  tall  man,  who  talked  loudly  and  motioned 
much,  waved  his  drink  through  the  air  to  empha 
size  a  declaration,  and  with  an  uncertain  swoop 
directed  it  to  his  lips.  He  leaned  backward 
from  the  hips  to  drink,  and  the  movement  made 
him  reel  and  grasp  the  bar  for  support. 

As  he  had  followed  the  movements  of  those 
men,  so  VB  followed  the  course  of  the  stuff  they 
drank  down  their  throats;  in  imagination,  down 
his  throat,  until  it  hit  upon  and  glossed  over  that 
spot  which  wailed  for  soothing! 

Oh,  how  he  wanted  it!  Still,  all  those  months 
of  battling  had  not  been  without  result.  The 
rigid  fight  he  had  made  carried  him  on,  even  in 
face  of  his  resolve  to  yield,  and  he  delayed,  put 
it  off  just  a  moment  —  lying  to  himself ! 

He  turned  back  to  the  game. 

"Sit  in,  VB?"  one  of  the  players  asked. 

"Don't  mind." 

He  dragged  another  chair  to  the  table,  unbut 
toned  and  cast  off  his  jumper,  gave  the  hat 
another  low  tug,  and  tossed  a  yellow-backed 
twenty  to  the  table.  The  chips  were  shoved 
toward  him. 

"Jacks  or  better,"  the  dealer  said,  and  shot  the 
cards  about  the  board. 

VB  won  a  pot.  He  bet  eagerly  on  the  next  and 
lost.  Then  he  won  again.  The  game  interested 
him  for  the  moment. 


THE   LAST  STAND  239 

"Oh,  just  one  more  HT  drink!"  cried  the 
garrulous  cowboy  at  the  bar. 

VB  had  passed  the  opening,  went  in  later,  drew 
.three  cards,  failed  to  help  his  tens,  and  hiked  the 
bet'  Called,  he  dropped  the  hand;  and  the 
winner,  showing  aces  up,  stared  at  the  boy  who 
had  bet  against  openers  on  lone  tens.  He  noticed 
that  VB's  hands  trembled,  and  he  wondered.  He 
could  not  feel  VB's  throat.  Nor  could  he  hear 
the  careless  plea  of  the  sotted  rider  for  just  one 
more  drink  ringing  in  VB's  burning  brain. 

A  big  pot  was  played  and  the  winner,  made 
happy,  said: 

"Well,  I'll  buy  a  drink." 

The  bartender,  hearing,  came  to  the  table. 

"What '11  it  be?"  he  asked. 

"Whisky,"  said  the  man  on  VB's  right,  and 
the  word  went  around  the  circle. 

Then  a  moment's  pause,  while  the  cards 
fluttered  out. 

"VB?" 

There  it  was,  reaching  out  for  him,  holding  out 
its  tentacles  that  ceased  to  appear  as  such  and 
became  soft,  inviting  arms.  It  was  that  for 
which  he  had  ridden  through  the  night;  it  was 
that  against  which  he  had  fought  month  after 
month  until,  this  night,  he  realized  that  a  fight 
was  useless;  it  was  the  one  solace  left  him,  for 
indirectly  it  had  brought  into  his  life  the  glorious 
thing  —  and  wiped  it  out  again.  So  why  hold 
off?  Why  refuse? 


240  "__I   CONQUERED" 

But  those  months  of  fighting!  He  could  not 
overcome  that  impetus  which  his  subjective  self 
had  received  from  the  struggle.  Consciously  he 
wanted  the  stuff  —  oh,  how  he  wanted  it !  But 
deep  in  him  something  — 

"Not  now  —  thanks,"  he  managed  to  mutter, 
and  clasped  his  cards  tightly. 

The  bartender  turned  away,  rubbing  his  chin 
with  one  finger,  as  though  perplexed.  VB  dealt, 
and  with  lightning  agility.  He  even  broke  in 
on  the  silence  of  the  playing  with  senseless  chatter 
when  the  drinks  were  brought.  He  held  his 
cards  high  that  he  might  not  see  the  glasses,  and 
was  glad  that  the  men  did  not  drink  at  once. 
Nor  did  they  drink  for  many  moments.  The 
opener  was  raised  twice;  few  cards  were  drawn. 
A  check  passed  one  man,  the  next  bet,  the  next 
raised,  and  VB,  the  deal,  came  in. 

The  opener  raised  again  and  the  bartender, 
seeing,  stepped  across  to  watch.  The  drowsy 
lounger,  sensing  the  drift  of  the  game,  rose  to 
look  on. 

VB  dropped  out.  He  held  threes,  but  felt 
that  they  had  no  place  in  that  game.  The 
betting  went  on  and  on,  up  and  up,  three  men 
bent  on  raising,  the  fourth  following,  intent  on 
having  a  look,  anyhow.  VB  threw  his  cards 
down  and  dropped  his  hands  loosely  on  the  table. 
The  back  of  his  right  hand  touched  a  cold  object. 
He  looked  down  quickly.  It  was  resting  against 
a  whisky  glass. 


THE   LAST  STAND  241 

"And  ten  more,"  a  player  said. 

"Ten  —  and  another  ten."  More  chips  rattled 
into  the  pile. 

His  hand  stole  back  and  hot  fingers  reached 
out  to  touch  with  sensitive  tips  that  cool  surface. 
His  nostrils  worked  to  catch  the  scent  of  the 
stuff.  His  hand  was  around  the  glass. 

"I'm  staying." 

"You  are  —  for  five  more." 

VB's  fingers  tightened  about  the  thing,  squeezed 
it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  It  had  felt  cool  at 
first;  now  it  was  like  fire.  The  muscles  of  that 
arm  strove  to  lift  it.  His  inner  mind  struggled, 
declared  against  the  intention,  weakened,  yielded, 
and  — 

"Well,  I'm  through.     Fight  it  out." 

The  man  at  VB's  right  dropped  his  cards  in 
disgust  and  with  a  quick  movement  reached  for 
his  drink. 

His  nervous,  hot  hand  closed  on  VB's  and 
their  surprised  glances  met. 

"Excuse  me,"  muttered  VB. 

"Sure!"  said  the  other,  surly  over  his  lost 
stake,  and  gulped  down  the  whisky. 

Two  of  the  players  went  broke  in  that  pot. 
The  fourth  had  a  scant  remnant  of  his  original 
stack  left,  and  VB  was  loser.  The  two  who  had 
failed  shoved  back  their  hats  and  yawned,  almost 
simultaneously. 

"How  about  it?"  asked  the  winner,  stacking 
his  chips. 
16 


242  "_I   CONQUERED" 

"I'm  satisfied,"  said  the  man  at  VB's  right. 

"And  VB?" 

"Here,  too!" 

The  boy  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  a  long- 
drawn  breath  after  shoving  his  chips  across  to 
be  cashed.  He  pushed  his  hat  back  for  the  first 
time,  and  a  man  across  the  table  stared  hard  as 
he  saw  the  harried  face.  The  others  were  busy, 
cashing  in. 

"Just  get  in,  VB?"  some  one  asked. 

He  heard  the  question  through  a  tumult. 
His  muscles  had  already  contracted  in  the  first 
movement  of  rising;  his  will  already  directed  his 
feet  across  the  room  to  the  bar  to  answer  the  call 
of  those  searching  bottle  eyes.  Inwardly  he 
raged  at  himself  for  holding  off  so  long,  for  wasting 
those  months,  for  letting  that  other  new  thing 
come  into  his  life  only  to  be  torn  away  again; 
when  it  all  meant  mere  delay,  a  drawing  out  of 
suffering!  Only  half  consciously  he  framed  the 
answer : 

"Yes,  I  rode  down  to-night." 

"Coin'  on  out?" 

"What?"  he  asked,  forcing  his  mind  to  give 
heed  to  the  other. 

"Goin'  on  out,  or  goin'  to  hang  around  a  while? " 

"I  don't  know."  The  boy  got  to  his  feet,  and 
the  reply  was  given  with  rare  bitterness.  "I 
don't  know,"  he  said  again,  voice  mounting.  "I 
may  go  out  —  and  I  may  not.  I  may  hang 
around  a  while,  and  it  may  n't  take  long.  I  'm 


THE   LAST  STAND  243 

here  to  finish  something  I  started  a  long  time 
ago,  something  that  I've  been  putting  off.  I'm 
going  to  put  a  stop  to  a  lying,  hypocritical  exist 
ence.  I'm — " 

He  broke  off  thickly  and  moved  away  from  the 
table. 

No  imagination  created  a  hush  this  time.  On 
his  words  the  counting  of  chips  ceased.  They 
looked  at  him,  seeing  utter  desperation,  and  not 
understanding. 

A  face  outside  that  had  been  pressed  close 
to  a  window  was  lowered,  darkness  hiding  the 
glitter  of  green  eyes  and  the  leering  smile  of  tri 
umph.  A  figure  slunk  along  carefully  to  the 
corner  of  the  building  and  joined  two  others. 

It  was  his  chance!  Rhues  was  out  to  get  his 
man  this  moonlight  night,  and  there  was  now 
no  danger.  Young  VB  wras  no  longer  afraid  to 
take  a  drink.  He  would  give  up  his  fight,  give 
up  his  hard -wrung  freedom,  and  when  drunken 
men  go  down,  shot  in  a  quarrel,  there  is  always 
cause.  He  had  him  now! 

VB  lurched  across  the  room  toward  the  bar. 
In  mid-floor  he  paused,  turned,  and  faced  those 
at  the  poker  table. 

"Don't  mistake  me,"  he  said  with  a  grin. 
"Don't  think  I'm  talking  against  any  man  in  the 
country.  It 's  myself,  boys  —  just  me.  I  'm  the 
liar,  the  hypocrite.  I've  tried  to  lie  myself  into 
being  what  I  never  can  be.  I've  come  out  here 
among  you  to  go  by  the  name  of  the  outfit  I  ride 


244  -I   CONQUERED" 

for.  You  don't  know  me,  don't  even  know  my 
name,  say  nothing  of  my  own  rotten  self.  Well, 
you're  going  to  know  me  as  I  am." 

He  swung  around  to  face  the  bar.  The  bar 
tender  pulled  nervously  on  his  mustache. 

"What '11  it  be,  VB?"  he  asked,  surprised 
knowledge  sending  the  professional  question  to 
his  lips. 

"The  first  thing  you  come  to,"  the  boy  mut 
tered,  and  grasped  the  bar  for  support. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

GUNS  CRASH 

in  the  shadow  of  the  building  three  men 
huddled  close  together,  talking  in  whispers 
—  Rhues,  Matson,  and  the  Mexican.  Rhues 
had  watched  the  progress  of  the  poker  game, 
waiting  the  chance  he  had  tried  to  seek  out  ever 
since  that  day  up  at  Avery's  when  he  had  been 
beaten  down  by  the  flailing  fists  of  that  tall 
young  tenderfoot.  He  had  seen  VB  start  for  the 
bar;  he  knew  the  hour  had  struck. 

"We've  got  him!"  he  whispered.  "He  won't 
get  away  this  time.  They  won't  be  no  mistakes." 

"S-s-s-s!"  the  Greaser  warned. 

"Aw,  nobody '11  ever  know,"  Rhues  scoffed 
in  an  undertone.  "They'll  never  know  that 
unless  you  spill.  An'  if  you  do  —  it'll  mean 
three  of  us  to  th'  gallows,  unless  —  we  're  lynched 
first!" 

Silence  a  moment,  and  they  heard  VB's  voice 
raised.  Then  Rhues  whispered  his  quick  plans. 

"Take  it  easy,"  he  warned  in  conclusion. 
"Don't  start  nothin'.  Let  him  git  drunk;  then 
he'll  do  th'  startin'  an'  it'll  be  easy." 

Inside  a  bottle  was  thumped  on  the  bar,  a 
glass  beside  it.  Feverishly  VB  reached  for  both, 
lifting  the  glass  with  uncertain  hand,  tilting  the 

245 


246  "_I   CONQUERED" 

bottle  from  the  bar,  not  trusting  his  quaking 
muscles  to  raise  it.  The  neck  touched  the  glass 
with  a  dull  clink;  the  mouth  of  the  bottle  gurgled 
greedily  as  the  first  of  the  liquor  ran  out  —  for 
all  the  world  as  if  it  had  waited  these  months 
for  that  chuckle  of  triumph. 

And  then  that  romanticism  of  youth  came  to 
the  surface  of  his  seething  thoughts  again.  It 
would  be  the  closing  of  a  chapter,  that  drink. 
It  was  for  her  sake  he  would  lift  it  to  his  lips. 
He  wanted  to  bid  her  a  last,  bitter  farewell. 
She  was  over  there,  far  across  the  hills,  sleeping 
and  dreaming  —  with  her  golden  hair  —  over 
there  in  the  northeast.  He  laughed  harshly,  set 
the  bottle  back  on  the  bar,  and  turned  his  face 
in  her  direction. 

Those  who  watched  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room  saw  him  turn  his  head  unsteadily;  saw  the 
sudden  tenseness  which  spread  through  his  frame, 
stiffening  those  faltering  knees.  He  turned  slowly 
toward  the  door  and  thrust  his  face  forward  as 
though  to  study  and  make  certain  that  he  saw 
rightly. 

Like  a  rush  of  fire  the  realization  swept  through 
him.  A  man  stood  there  in  the  moonlight,  and 
the  sheen  from  the  heavens  was  caught  on  the 
dull  barrel  of  a  gun  in  his  hand. 

VB  was  covered,  and  he  knew  by  whom!  The 
man  who  had  fought  less  than  half  a  dozen  times 
in  his  life,  and  then  with  bare  fists,  was  the  object 
of  a  trained  gun  hand.  He  could  almost  see  the 


GUNS   CRASH  247 

glitter  of  the  green  eyes  that  were  staring  at  him. 

Instinct  should  have  told  him  to  spring  to  one 
side;  a  leap  right  or  left  would  have  carried  him 
out  of  range,  but  instinct  had  been  warped  by  all 
those  months  of  struggle. 

He  was  on  the  brink,  at  the  point  of  losing  his 
balance;  but  the  battling  spirit  within  him  still 
throbbed,  though  his  frenzy,  his  lack  of  faith, 
had  nearly  killed  it.  Now  the  thing  came  alive 
pulsing,  bare ! 

An  instant  before  he  had  not  cared  what 
happened.  Now  he  did,  and  the  end  was  not 
the  only  thing  in  view;  the  means  counted  with 
Young  VB. 

He  did  not  jump  for  shelter.  He  roared  his 
rage  as  he  prepared  to  stand  and  fight. 

The  others  understood  before  his  hand  reached 
his  shirt  front.  The  bartender  dropped  behind 
the  fixture  and  the  others  in  the  room  sprang 
behind  the  barrels  and  stove.  By  the  time  VB's 
hand  had  clasped  the  neck  of  his  shirt  he  stood 
alone.  When  the  vicious  yank  he  gave  the  gar 
ment  ripped  it  open  from  throat  halfway  to  waist 
the  first  belch  of  fire  came  from  that  gun  out  there. 

The  bottle  on  the  bar  exploded,  fine  bits  of 
glass  shooting  to  the  far  corners  of  the  room. 

' '  Come  on  —  you  —  yellow  — 

VB's  fingers  found  the  butt  of  his  Colt,  closed 
and  yanked.  It  came  from  the  holster,  poised, 
muzzle  upward,  his  thumb  over  the  hammer. 
Possibly  he  stood  thus  a  tenth  part  of  a  second, 


248  "__I   CONQUERED" 

but  while  he  waited  for  his  eyes  to  focus  well  a 
generation  seemed  to  parade  past.  He  was 
hunted  down  by  a  crawling  piece  of  vermin! 

A  parallel  sprang  to  his  mind.  While  Rhues 
sought  his  body  did  not  another  viper  seek  his 
soul  ?  Was  — 

Then  he  made  out  the  figure  —  crouched  low. 
The  forty-five  came  down,  and  the  room  re 
sounded  with  its  roar.  He  stood  there,  a  green 
horn  who  had  never  handled  a  weapon  in  his 
life  until  the  last  year,  giving  battle  to  a  gun 
fighter  whose  name  was  a  synonym! 

Out  of  the  moonlight  came  another  flash,  and 
before  VB  could  answer  the  hunched  figure  had 
leaped  from  the  area  framed  by  the  doorway. 

"You  won't  stand!"  the  boy  cried,  and  strode 
across  the  room. 

"Don't  be  a  fool!     VB!" 

The  bartender's  warning  might  as  well  have 
been  unheard.  Straight  for  the  open  door  went 
the  boy,  gun  raised,  coughing  from  the  powder 
smoke.  But  the  mustached  man,  though  pan- 
derer  by  profession,  revolted  at  unfairness;  per 
haps  it  was  through  the  boy's  ignorance,  but  he 
knew  VB  walked  only  to  become  a  target. 
Twice  his  gun  roared  from  behind  the  bar  and  the 
two  swinging  lamps  became  scattered,  tinkling 
fragments. 

VB  seemed  not  to  heed,  not  to  notice  that  he 
was  in  darkness.  He  reached  the  door,  put  his 
left  hand  against  the  casing,  and  looked  out. 


GUNS  CRASH  249 

With  lights  behind  he  would  have  been  riddled 
on  the  instant.     But,  looking  from  blackness  to 
moonlight,   he  was  invisible  for  the  moment  - 
but  only  for  a  moment. 

The  stream  of  yellow  stabbed  at  him  again 
and  Young  VB,  as  though  under  the  blow  of  a 
sledge,  spun  round  and  was  flattened  against  the 
wall. 

His  left  breast  seemed  to  be  in  flames.  He 
reached  for  it,  fired  aimlessly  with  the  other 
hand  in  the  direction  of  his  hidden  foe,  and  let 
the  gun  clatter  to  the  floor. 

He  wondered  if  it  were  death  —  that  darkness. 
He  felt  the  fanning  of  the  wind,  heard,  dimly, 
its  uneasy  soughing.  It  was  very  dark. 

A  movement  and  its  consequent  grip  of  pain 
brought  him  back.  He  saw  then  that  a  heavy 
cloud,  wind  driven,  had  blotted  out  the  moon. 
In  a  frenzy  he  came  alert!  He  was  wounded  I 
He  had  dropped  his  gun  and  they  were  waiting  for 
him  out  there,  somewhere;  waiting  to  finish  him! 

He  could  feel  the  smearing  of  blood  across  his 
chest  as  his  clothing  held  it  in.  His  legs  com 
menced  to  tremble,  from  true  physical  weakness 
this  time. 

And  the  Captain   was  waiting! 

That  thought  wiped  out  every  other;  he  was 
possessed  with  it.  He  might  be  dying,  but  if 
he  could  only  get  to  the  Captain;  if  he  could  only 
feel  that  silken  nose  against  his  cheek!  Nothing 
would  matter  then. 


2 5o  "_I   CONQUERED" 

If  he  could  get  up,  if  he  could  mount,  the 
Captain  would  take  care  of  him.  He  could  out 
run  those  bullets  —  the  Captain.  He  would  take 
him  home,  away  from  this  inferno. 

"I'm  coming,  Captain!"  he  muttered  brokenly. 
"You're  waiting!  Oh,  I  know  where  to  find  you. 
I'm  coming,  boy,  coming!" 

He  stepped  down  from  the  doorway  and  reeled, 
a  hand  against  his  wounded  breast.  It  seemed 
as  though  it  required  an  eternity  to  regain  his 
balance.  Then  he  lurched  forward  a  step.  Oh, 
they  were  merciless!  They  opened  on  him  from 
behind  —  when  he  had  no  weapon,  when  his  life 
was  gushing  away  under  his  shirt!  Those  shots 
never  came  from  one  gun  alone.  More  than  one 
man  fired  on  him! 

His  salvation  then  was  flight.  He  ran,  stag 
gering,  stumbling.  He  plunged  forward  on  his 
face  and  heard  a  bullet  scream  over  him. 

' '  Oh,  Captain ! "  he  moaned.  ' '  Can't  you  come 
and  get  me?  Can't  you?" 

He  snarled  his  determination  to  rally  those 
senses  that  tried  to  roam  off  into  vagaries.  He 
got  to  his  hands  and  knees  and  crawled,  inch  by 
inch.  He  heard  another  shot,  but  it  went  wild. 
He  got  to  his  feet  and  reeled  on.  They  thought 
they'd  done  for  him  when  he  fell!  He  heard 
himself  laughing  crazily  at  the  joke. 

' '  Oh,  you  '11  laugh,  too  —  Captain ! "  he  growled. 
"It's  a  joke  —  you'll  —  if  I  can  only  get  to  — 
you!" 


GUNS   CRASH  251 

His  numb,  lagging  legs  seemed  to  make  con 
scious  efforts  to  hold  him  back.  His  head  be 
came  as  heavy  as  his  feet  and  rolled  about  on 
his  neck,  now  straight  forward,  now  swinging 
from  side  to  side.  His  arms  flopped  as  no  arm 
ever  should  flop.  And  he  heard  the  blood  bub 
bling  under  his  vest.  Perhaps  he  would  never 
get  there!  Perhap  she  was  done  for! 

"Oh,   no  —  I  can't  quit  before  —  I  get  to — 
you,    Captain!"   he   muttered   as   he   fell   again. 
' '  You  're   waiting  —  where   I   told  you   to   wait ! 
I  've  got  to  —  get  —  there ! " 

Of  only  one  thing  in  this  borderland  between 
consciousness  and  insensibility  was  he  certain  — 
the  Captain  was  waiting.  The  Captain  was 
wraiting!  If  he  could  get  that  far—  It  was 
the  climax  of  all  things.  To  reach  his  horse; 
to  touch  him;  to  put  his  arms  about  those  ankles 
as  he  fell  and  hold  them  close;  to  answer  trust 
with  trust.  For  through  all  this  the  Captain 
had  waited! 

The  shack  where  he  had  left  the  horse  swam 
before  his  eyes.  He  heard  the  breath  making 
sounds  in  his  throat  as  he  crawled  on  toward  it, 
counting  each  hand-breadth  traveled  an  achieve 
ment.  He  tried  to  call  out  to  the  horse,  but  the 
words  clogged  and  he  could  not  make  his  voice 
carry. 

"Just  a  moment,  boy!"  he  whispered.     "Only 
-  a  moment  longer  —  then  you  won't  have  - 
to  wait!" 


252  "_I   CONQUERED" 

He  was  conscious  again  that  his  pursuers  fired 
from  behind.  It  was  moonlight  once  more,  and 
they  could  see  him  as  he  reeled  on  toward  the 
shack.  He  sprawled  again  as  his  foot  met  a  stone, 
and  the  guns  ceased  to  crash. 

But  VB  did  not  think  on  this  more  than  that 
instant.  He  found  no  comfort  in  the  cessation 
of  firing.  For  him,  only  one  attainable  object 
remained  in  life.  He  wanted  to  be  with  the 
thing  of  which  he  was  certain,  away  from  all  else 

—  to  know  a  faith  was  justified ;  to  sense  once 
again  stability! 

His  hand  struck  rough  wood.  He  strained 
his  eyes  to  make  out  the  tumble-down  structure 
rising  above  him. 

"Captain!"  he  called,  forcing  his  voice  up  from 
a  whisper.  "Come  —  boy,  I 'm  —  ready  —  to  go 

—  home!" 

Clinging  to  the  logs,  he  raised  himself  to  his 
feet  and  swayed  in  through  the  door. 

"Captain,"  he  muttered,  closing  his  eyes  almost 
contentedly  and  waiting.  "Captain?" 

He  started  forward  in  alarm,  a  concern  mount 
ing  through  his  torture  and  dimming  his  sensi 
bilities. 

' '  Captain  —  are  you  —  here  ? ' ' 

He  stumbled  forward,  arms  outstretched  in  the 
darkness,  feeling  about  the  space.  He  ran  into 
a  wall;  turned,  met  another. 

"Captain!"  he  cried,  his  voice  mounting  to  a 
ranting  cry. 


GUNS  CRASH  253 

The  Captain  was  gone ! 

Reason  for  keeping  on  slipped  from  VB's  mind. 
He  needed  air,  so  his  reflexes  carried  him  through 
the  doorway  again,  out  of  the  place  where  he  had 
left  the  stallion,  out  of  the  place  where  his  trust 
had  been  betrayed.  He  stumbled,  recovered  his 
balance,  plunged  on  out  into  the  moonlight,  into 
the  brush,  sobbing  heavily.  His  knees  failed.  He 
crashed  down,  face  plowing  into  cool  soil. 

' '  Captain  " !  he  moaned.  ' '  Oh,  boy  —  I  did  n't 
think  —  you  would  —  fail  -  No  wonder  —  I 
could  n't  keep  —  going  - 

He  did  not  hear  the  running  feet,  did  not  know 
they  rolled  him  over,  Rhues  with  his  gun  up 
raised. 

"I  got  him,  th'  -    — "he  muttered. 

"Then  let's  get  out  — pronto!" 

Twenty  minutes  later  a  man  with  a  lantern 
stepped  out  of  the  shack  in  which  the  Captain 
had  stood.  Two  others  were  with  him. 

"Yes,  he  left  his  horse  there,  all  right,"  the 
man  with  the  light  muttered.  "He  got  to  him 
an'  got  away.  Nobody  else  could  lead  that  horse 
off.  He  could  n't  'a'  been  hard  hit  or  he  could  n't 
'a'  got  up." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

TABLES  TURN;  AND  TURN  AGAIN 

A  YOUNG  chap  from  the  East  who  was  in 
•^^  Clear  River  County  because  of  his  lungs 
named  her  Delilah  when  she  was  only  a  little 
girl  —  Delilah  Gomez.  She  cooked  now  for  the 
Double  Six  Ranch,  the  buildings  of  which  clustered 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  Ranger  post  office. 
And  that  night  as  she  sat  looking  from  her  window 
she  thought,  as  she  did  much  of  the  time,  about 
the  smiling  Julio  with  his  guitar  —  the  handsome 
fellow  who  lived  with  Senor  Rhues  and  did  no 
work,  but  wore  such  fine  chaps  and  kerchiefs! 

She  sighed,  then  started  to  her  feet  as  she  saw 
him  come  through  the  gate  and  up  the  path,  and 
hastened  to  open  the  door  for  him. 

Julio  took  off  his  hat. 

"It  is  late,"  he  said,  flashing  his  teeth.  "I 
come  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for  me,  Delilah." 

"What  is  it  —  now  —  so  late?"  she  asked 
breathlessly. 

"In  the  old  house  across  the  road"  —  he 
pointed  —  "is  a  horse.  It  is  the  horse  of  a  friend. 
A  friend,  also,  of  Senor  Rhues.  He  is  now  in  the 
saloon.  He  is  drunk.  Will  you  take  the  horse 
away?  To  the  place  of  Senor  Rhues?  And 

254 


TABLES  TURN;  AND   TURN  AGAIN    255 

put  him  in  the  barn?  And  be  sure  to  fasten 
the  door  so  he  will  not  get  out?" 

Delilah  was  puzzled  a  moment. 

"But  why,"  she  asked,  "why  so  late?" 

Julio  bowed  profoundly  again. 

"We  go  —  Serior  Rhues,  Senor  Matson,  and 
I,  Julio,  to  take  our  friend  away  from  the  saloon. 
We  are  busy.  Serior  Rhues  offers  this." 

He  pressed  a  dollar  into  her  palm.  And  for 
the  dollar  and  a  flash  of  Julio's  teeth,  Delilah 
went  forth  upon  her  commission. 

The  three  men  watched  her  go. 

"That  devil'd  tear  a  man  to  pieces,"  Rhues 
muttered.  "Any  woman  can  handle  him,  though. 
Git  him  locked  up,  an'  th'  -  -  tenderfoot  can't 
make  it  away!  He'll  have  to  stay  an'  take 
what's  comin'!" 

The  girl  led  the  Captain  down  the  road,  past 
the  Double  Six  Ranch,  on  to  the  cramped  little 
barn  behind  the  cabin  where  lived  Rhues  and  his 
two  companions. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task.  The  Captain  did  not 
want  to  go.  He  kept  stopping  and  looking  back. 
But  the  girl  talked  to  him  kindly  and  stroked  his 
nose  and  —  VB  himself  had  taught  him  to 
respect  women.  This  woman  talked  softly  and 
petted  him  much,  for  she  remembered  the  great 
horse  she  had  seen  ridden  by  the  tall  young  fellow. 
Besides,  the  dollar  was  still  in  her  hand.  She  led 
him  into  the  cramped  little  barn,  left  him  standing 
and  came  out,  closing  the  doors  behind  her.  Then 


256  "_I   CONQUERED" 

she  set  out  for  home,   clasping  the  dollar  and 
thinking  of  Julio's  smile. 

The  first  shot  attracted  her.  The  second 
alarmed,  and  those  that  followed  terrified  the 
girl.  She  ran  from  the  road  ard  hovered  in  the 
shadow  of  a  huge  bowlder,  watching  fearfully, 
uttering  little  moans  of  fright. 

She  heard  everything.  Some  men  ran  past  her 
in  the  direction  of  Rhues's  cabin,  and  she  thought 
one  of  them  must  be  Julio.  But  she  was  too 
frightened  to  stir,  to  try  to  determine ;  too  fright 
ened  to  do  anything  but  make  for  her  own  home. 

The  girl  moved  stealthily  through  the  night, 
facing  the  moon  that  swung  low,  unclouded  again, 
making  all  radiant.  She  wanted  to  run  for  home, 
where  she  could  hide  under  blankets,  but  caution 
and  fear  held  her  to  a  walk.  She  did  not  cry  out 
when  she  stumbled  over  the  body ;  merely  cowered, 
holding  both  hands  over  her  lips. 

For  a  long  time  she  stood  by  it,  looking  down, 
not  daring  to  stoop,  not  daring  to  go  away.  Then 
the  hand  that  sprawled  on  the  dirt  raised  itself 
fell  back;  the  lips  parted,  a  moan  escaped,  and 
the  head  rolled  from  one  side  to  the  other. 

The  fear  of  dead  things  that  had  been  on  hej 
passed.  She  saw  only  a  human  being  who  was 
hurt.  She  dropped  to  her  knees  and  took  th* 
head  in  her  lap. 

"Oh,  por  Dios!  It  is  the  senor  who  rode  the 
horse!"  she  muttered,  and  looked  quickly  ovet 
her  shoulder  at  the  Rhues  cabin. 


TABLES   TURN;   AND   TURN  AGAIN    257 

''They  left  him;  they  thought  he  was  dead," 
she  went  on  aloud.  "They  should  know;  he 
should  be  with  them.  They  were  going  for  him 
when  the  shooting  began!" 

She  looked  closer  into  VB's  face  and  he  moaned 
again.  His  eyes  opened.  The  girl  asked  a 
sharp  question  in  Spanish. 

"Is  the  senor  much  hurt?"  she  repeated  in  the 
language  he  understood. 

"Oh,  Captain!"  he  moaned.  "Why?  Why 
did  you  —  quit?" 

She  lifted  him  up  then  and  he  struggled  slug 
gishly  to  help  himself. 

Once  he  muttered:     "Oh,  Gail!     It  hurts  so!" 

She  strained  to  the  limits  of  her  lithe  strength 
until  she  had  him  on  his  feet.  Then  she  drew 
one  of  his  arms  about  her  neck,  bracing  herself 
to  support  his  lagging  weight. 

"Come,"  she  said  comfortingly.  "We  will 
go  —  to  them." 

No  light  showed  from  the  Rhues  cabin,  but  the 
girl  was  sure  the  men  were  there,  or  would  com* 
soon.     Loyal    to    Julio    for   the    dollar   and    th£ 
memory  of  his  graciousness,  she  worked  with  th< 
heart  of  a  good  Samaritan,  guiding  the  unconscious 
steps  of  the  muttering  man  toward  the  little  darf 
blot  of  houses. 

It  was  a  floundering  progress.  Twice  in  thf 
first  few  rods  the  man  went  down  and  she  was 
sorely  put  to  get  him  on  his  feet  again.  But  the 
moving  about  seemed  to  bring  back  his  strength, 

17 


258  "_I   CONQUERED" 

and  gradually  he  became  better  able  to  help 
himself. 

They  crossed  the  road  and  passed  through  the 
gap  in  the  fence  by  the  cabin.  VB  kept  muttering 
wildly,  calling  the  girl  Gail,  calling  for  the  Captain 
in  a  plaintive  voice. 

"There  they  are  now!  See  the  light?"  she 
whispered.  "It  is  not  much.  They  have  covered 
the  window.  Yes." 

"What?"  VB  asked,  drawing  a  hand  across 
his  eyes. 

She  repeated  her  assertion  that  the  men  were 
in  the  cabin  and  he  halted,  refusing  drunkenly 
to  go  on. 

"No,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "I'm 
unarmed  —  they  —  " 

But  she  tugged  at  him  and  forced  him  to  go 
beside  her.  They  progressed  slowly,  painfully, 
quietly.  There  was  no  sound,  except  VB's  hard 
breathing,  for  they  trod  in  dust.  They  approached 
the  house  and  the  girl  put  out  a  hand  to  help  her 
along  with  the  burden. 

A  thin  streak  of  light  came  from  a  window. 
It  seemed  to  slash  deeply  into  the  staggering 
man,  bringing  him  back  to  himself.  Then  a 
sound,  the  low,  worried  nickering  of  a  horse! 
The  Mexican  girl  felt  the  arm  about  her  neck 
tighten  and  tremble. 

"The  Captain!"  VB  muttered,  looking  about 
wildly. 

He  opened  his  lips  to  cry  out  to  the  horse  as 


TABLES  TURN;  AND  TURN   AGAIN    259 

the  events  of  the  night  poured  back  into  his 
consciousness,  to  cry  his  questioning  and  his 
sorrow,  to  put  into  words  the  mourning  for  a 
faith,  but  that  cry  never  came  from  his  throat. 

The  nickering  of  the  stallion  and  the  flood  of 
memory  had  brought  him  to  a  clear  understanding 
of  the  situation;  a  sudden  glare  of  light  from  the 
abruptly  uncovered  window  before  which  he  and 
the  girl  stood  provoked  an  alertness  which  was 
abnormally  keen,  that  played  with  the  subjective 
rather  than  the  more  cumbersome  objective. 
He  stooped  with  the  quickness  of  a  drop  and 
vScuttled  into  the  shadows,  cautious,  the  first  law 
of  man  athrob. 

The  man  who  had  brushed  away  the  blanket 
that  had  screened  the  window  burst  into  irritated 
talk.  VB  recognized  him  as  Matson,  Back  in 
the  shadows  of  the  room  he  saw  the  Mexican 
standing. 

A  table  was  close  to  the  window,  so  close  that 
in  crowrding  behind  it  Matson  had  torn  down  the 
blanket  that  had  done  service  as  a  curtain.  A 
lamp  burned  on  the  table,  its  wick  so  high  that 
smoke  streamed  upward  through  the  cracked 
chimney.  And  close  beside  the  lamp,  eyes 
glittering,  cruel  cunning  in  every  line,  the  flush 
of  anger  smearing  it,  was  the  face  of  Rhues! 

VB,  crouching  there,  saw  then  that  Matson's 
finger  was  leveled  at  Rhues. 

"It  ain't  good  money!" 

That  was  the  declaration  Matson  had  made  as 


260  "_I   CONQUERED" 

the  blanket  slipped  down  and  disclosed  the  scene. 
He  repeated  it,  and  his  voice  rose  to  a  snarl. 

Delilah  started  to  rise  but  VB  jerked  her  back 
with  a  vehemence  that  shot  a  new  fear  through 
the  girl,  that  made  her  breathe  quickly  and 
loudly.  For  the  first  time  he  turned  and  looked 
at  the  girl,  not  to  discover  who  this  might  be  thai 
had  brought  him  to  the  nest  of  those  who  sough* 
his  life,  but  to  threaten. 

"You  stay  here,"  he  whispered  sharply.  "D 
you  make  a  sound,  I  '11  —  you  '11  never  forget  it ! ' 

His  face  was  close  to  hers  and  he  wagged  his 
head  to  emphasize  the  warning. 

Where  she  had  expected  to  find  a  friend  the 
Mexican  girl  realized  that  she  had  encountered 
a  foe.  Where  she  had,  from  the  fullness  of 
her  heart  and  for  a  dollar  and  the  admiration 
of  Julio,  sought  to  help,  she  knew  now  that  she 
had  wronged.  His  intensity  filled  her  with  this 
knowledge  and  sent  her  shrinking  against  the 
wall  of  the  cabin,  a  hand  half  raised  to  her  cheek, 
trembling,  wanting  to  whimper  for  mercy. 

"Keep  still!"  he  warned  again,  and,  stretchinp 
one  hand  toward  her  as  though  to  do  sentry 
duty,  ready  to  throttle  any  sound,  to  stay  any 
flight,  to  bolster  his  commands,  he  crept  closer 
to  the  window. 

"Why  ain't  it  good?"  Rhues  was  asking  in  ^ 
voice  that  carried  no  great  conviction,  as  thoug  ^ 
he  merely  stalled  for  time. 

VB  saw  him  stretch  a  bill  close  to  the  lamp 


TABLES  TURN;  AND  TURN  AGAIN    261 

and  Matson  lean  low  beside  him.  The  light 
fell  on  the  piece  of  currency,  not  six  feet  from 
VB's  fever-bright  eyes.  He  saw  that  they  were 
inspecting  a  fifty-dollar  bill  issued  by  the  Con 
federate  States  of  America!  And  Rhues  said 
grudgingly:  "Well,  if  that  ain't  good,  they's 
only  six  hunderd  'n  all!" 

Up  came  the  buried  memories,  struggling 
through  all  the  welded  events  in  the  furnace 
consciousness  of  the  man  who  pressed  his  face  so 
close  to  the  window's  crinkly  glass.  His  eyes 
sought  aimlessly  for  some  object  that  might  sug 
gest  a  solution  for  the  slipping  thought  he  tried 
to  grasp.  They  found  it  —  found  it  in  a  rumpled, 
coiled  contrivance  of  leather  that  lay  beside  the 
lamp.  It  was  a  money  belt.  The  money  belt 
that  Kelly,  the  horse  buyer,  had  worn! 

Six  hundred  dollars !  And  a  Confederate  States 
fifty-dollar  bill!  They  were  quarreling  over  the 
spoils  of  that  chill  murder! 

VB  swayed  unsteadily  as  he  felt  a  rage  swell 
in  him,  a  rage  that  nullified  caution.  He  turned 
his  eyes  back  to  the  Mexican  girl  cringing  just 
out  of  his  reach  and  moved  the  extended  hand  up 
and  down  slowly  to  keep  his  warning  fresh  upon 
her.  He  wanted  time  to  think,  just  a  moment 
to  determine  what  action  would  be  most  advisable. 
His  heart  raced  unevenly  and  he  thought  the  hot 
edges  of  his  wound  were  blistering. 

"That's  two  hundred  apiece,  then,"  Rhues 
said,  and  straightened. 


262  "_I   CONQUERED" 

VB  saw  that  the  hand  which  had  dropped  the 
worthless  piece  of  paper  held  a  roll  of  yellow- 
backed  bills. 

"Two  hundred  we  all  git,"  he  growled.  "You 
git  it,  Julio  gits  it,  I  git  it  —  an'  I'm  th'  party 
what  done  th'  work!" 

VB  stooped  and  grasped  Delilah  roughly  by 
the  arm.  He  held  a  finger  to  his  lips  as  he  dragged 
the  shaking  girl  out  to  where  she  could  see. 

"Watch!"  he  commanded,  close  in  her  ear. 
' '  Watch  Rhues  —  and  the  others ! ' ' 

Rhues  counted  slowly,  wetting  his  thumb  with 
hasty  movements  and  dropping  bills  from  the 
roll  to  the  table  top. 

' '  Both  you  "  —  he  looked  up  to  indicate  Matson 
and  Julio—  "gits  's  much  's  me,  an'  I  done  th' 
work!" 

"An'  if  we're  snagged,  we  stand  as  good  a 
chanct  o'  gettin'  away  as  you,"  Matson  remarked, 
and  laughed  shortly. 

Rhues  looked  up  again  and  narrowed  the  red 
lids  over  his  eyes. 

"You  said  it!"  he  snarled.  "That's  why  it's 
good  to  keep  yer  mouths  shut!  That's  why  you 
got  to  dig  out  —  with  me. 

"If  I'm  snagged  —  remember,  they's  plenty 
o'  stories  I  could  tell  about  you  two  —  an'  I  will, 
too,  if  I'm  snagged  'cause  o'  you!" 

He  worked  his  shoulders  in  awkward  gesture. 

"An'  that's  why  we  want  our  share,"  Matson 
growled  back.  "An' want  it  quick!  We  watched 


TABLES  TURN;  AND  TURN  AGAIN    263 

th'  road;  you  done  th'  killin'.  We  thought  it 

was  jus'  to  settle  things  with  that ,  but  it 

wasn't.  It  was  profitable." 

He  ended  with  another  short  laugh. 

"Well,  I  said  I'd  git  him,  did  n't  I?  An'  I  did, 
didn't  I?  An'  if  th'  first  time  went  wrong  it 
was  —  profitable,  was  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  queek,  queeker!"  the  Mexican  broke 
in.  "They  might  come  —  now!" 

"Well,  quit  snivelin'!"  snapped  Rhues.  "It 
did  n't  go  as  we  planned.  I  had  to  shoot  'fore 
I  wanted  to.  But  I  got  him,  didn't  I?" 

Julio  reached  for  the  pile  of  bills  Rhues  shoved 
toward  him;  Matson  took  his;  Rhues  pocketed 
the  rest.  And  outside,  VB  relaxed  his  hold  on 
the  girl's  wrist,  raising  both  hands  upward  and 
out,  fingers  stiff  and  claw-like. 

Kelly,  good-natured,  careless,  likable,  trusting 
Kelly,  had  gone  out  to  pay  toll  to  this  man's 
viciousness;  had  gone  because  he,  VB,  would  not 
submit  to  Rhues 's  bullying!  And  now  they 
laughed,  and  called  it  a  profitable  mistake! 

All  his  civilized,  law-abiding  nature  rose  in  its 
might.  All  that  spirit  which  demands  an  eye 
for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,  which  makes  for 
statutes  and  courts  and  the  driving  of  nations 
into  fixed  paths,  lifted  VB  above  any  caution 
that  the  circumstances  could  have  engendered. 
His  whole  nature  cried  out  for  the  justice  he  had 
been  trained  to  respect;  his  single  remaining 
impulse  was  to  make  this  man  Rhues  suffer  for 


264  '_!   CONQUERED" 

the  act  of  which  there  was  such  ample  evidence. 

He  struggled  to  find  a  way  toward  retribution, 
/or  in  a  moment  it  might  be  too  late.  He  had 
no  thought  beyond  the  instant,  no  idea  but  to 
possess  himself  of  something  more,  to  make  the 
case  stronger  for  society.  He  had  seen,  he  had 
heard,  he  had  the  girl  beside  him,  but  he  wanted 
more  evidence. 

Matson  moved  away  from  the  window  and  as 
he  did  so  the  sash  sagged  inward.  It  was  a 
hinged  casing! 

His  hands  numb  from  excitement,  VB  forced 
his  arms  against  it,  shoving  stoutly.  The  force 
of  his  effort  precipitated  his  head  and  shoulders 
into  the  room!  He  had  a  flash  of  the  three  men 
as  they  whirled  and  poised,  with  oaths,  but  his 
mind  did  not  linger  on  them.  His  fingers  clutched 
the  money  belt,  drew  it  to  him,  and  as  Rhues 
dropped  a  hand  to  his  hip  VB  staggered  backward 
out  of  the  window,  stuffing  the  money  belt  inside 
his  shirt,  in  against  the  hot  wound,  and  stared 
about  him. 

For  an  instant,  silence,  as  Rhues  stood,  gun 
drawn,  shoulders  forward,  gazing  at  the  empty 
window.  Then  upon  them  came  a  shrill,  quaver 
ing,  anxious  cry  —  the  call  of  the  Captain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LIFE,  THE  TROPHY 

nPO  VB,  at  the  sound  of  the  stallion's  neigh- 
-*•  ing,  came  the  realization  of  his  position  - 
weaponless  in  the  midst  of  men  who,  now  of  all 
times,  would  shoot  to  kill!  His  righteous  abhor 
rence  of  the  murder  Rhues  had  done  and  in  which 
the  others  had  been  conspirators  did  not  lessen. 
He  did  not  falter  in  his  determination  for  venge 
ance;  but  his  thirst  for  it  did  not  detract  one  whit 
from  his  realization  of  the  situation's  difficulties. 

Seconds  were  precious.  Just  a  lone  instant 
he  poised,  looking  quickly  about,  and  to  his  ears 
came  again  the  cry  of  the  horse,  plaintive,  wor 
ried,  appealing. 

"Captain!"  he  cried,  and  started  to  run. 
"Captain!  You  didn't  fail!  They  brought 
you!" 

His  voice  lifted  to  a  shout  as  he  rounded  the 
corner  of  the  house,  and  the  Captain  answered. 

With  the  horse  located,  VB  stumbled  across 
the  short  intervening  space,  one  hand  to  his 
breast  doing  the  double  duty  of  attempting  to 
still  the  searing  of  that  wound  and  hold  fast  to 
the  money  belt.  He  flung  himself  at  the  door  of 
the  low  little  stable,  jerked  the  fastening  apart, 
and,  backing  in,  saw  men  run  from  the  house, 

265 


266  "__I   CONQUERED" 

heard  them  curse  sharply,  and  saw  them  turn 
and  look,  each  with  his  shooting  hand  raised. 

VB  drew  the  door  shut  after  him,  trembling, 
thinking  swiftly.  The  Captain  nosed  him  and 
nickered  relief,  stepping  about  in  his  agitation  as 
though  he  knew  the  desperate  nature  of  the 
corner  into  which  they  had  been  driven. 

"We've  got  to  get  out,  boy,"  VB  cried,  run 
ning  his  numb  hands  over  the  animal's  face  in 
caress.  "We're  up  against  it,  but  there's  a  way 
out!" 

It  was  good  to  be  back.  It  was  good  to  feel 
that  thick,  firm  neck  again,  to  have  the  warm 
breath  of  the  vital  beast  on  his  cheek,  to  sense 
his  dominating  presence  —  for  it  did  dominate, 
even  in  that  strained  circumstance,  and  in  the 
stress  VB  found  half  hysterical  joy  and  voiced  it : 

"You  didn't  quit,  Captain!"  he  cried  as  he 
felt  the  cinch  hastily.  "You  did  n't  quit.  They 
—  that  woman!  She  brought  you  here!" 

He  flung  his  arms  about  the  stallion's  head  in  a 
quick,  nervous  embrace  at  the  cost  of  a  mighty 
cutting  pain  across  his  chest. 

Then  the  cautious  voice  of  Rhues,  outside  and 
close  up  to  the  door,  talking  lowly  and  swiftly: 

"Julio,  saddle  th'  buckskin!  Quick!  I'll  hold 
him  here  till  we're  ready!  Then  I'll  shoot  th' 
-  down  in  his  tracks !  We  got  to  ride,  any 
how —  nothin'  '11  make  no  difference  now!" 

Raising  his  voice,  Rhues  taunted: 

"Pray,  you !     Yer  goin'  to  cash!" 


LIFE,   THE   TROPHY  267 

VB  pressed  his  face  to  a  crack  and  saw  Rhues 
in  the  moonlight,  close  up  to  the  door.  He  also 
saw  another  man,  Julio,  leading  a  horse  from  the 
corral  on  the  run.  Two  other  animals,  saddled, 
stood  near. 

He  was  cornered,  helpless,  in  their  hands  — 
hard  hands,  that  knew  no  mercy.  But  he  did 
not  give  up.  His  mind  worked  nimbly,  skipping 
from  possibility  to  possibility,  looking,  searching 
for  a  way  out. 

He  reeled  to  the  black  horse  and  felt  the 
animal's  breath  against  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"We're  up  against  it,  boy,"  he  whispered. 

And  the  voice  of  Rhues  again:  "They'll  find 
him  to-morrow — with  th'  belt!" 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  as  though  the  words  had 
set  in  his  mind  a  new  idea. 

VB  did  not  hear;  would  not  have  heeded  had 
his  senses  registered  the  words,  because  an  odd 
apathy  had  come  over  him,  dulling  the  pain  of 
his  wound,  deadening  the  realization  of  his  danger. 
He  sighed  deeply  and  shook  himself  and  tried  to 
rally,  but  though  a  part  of  him  insisted  that  he 
gather  his  faculties  and  force  them  to  alertness, 
another  tired,  lethargic  self  overbore  the  warning. 
Half  consciously  he  pulled  the  stirrup  toward 
him,  put  up  his  foot  with  an  unreal  effort,  and 
laboriously  drew  himself  to  the  saddle.  There, 
he  leaned  forward  on  his  arms,  which  were 
crossed  on  the  Captain's  neck,  oblivious  to  all 
that  transpired. 


268  "_I   CONQUERED" 

But  the  great  stallion  was  not  insensible  to  the 
situation.  He  could  not  know  the  danger,  but  he 
did  know  that  he  had  been  led  into  a  strange 
place,  shut  there  and  left  virtually  a  prisoner; 
ihat  his  master  had  burst  in  upon  him  atremble 
yith  communicable  excitement;  that  strange 
/oices  were  raised  close  to  him ;  that  men  had  been 
funning  to  and  fro;  that  the  sounds  of  struggling 
horses  were  coming  from  out  there;  that  some 
man  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of  the  door, 
closer  than  most  men  had  ever  stood  to  him.  He 
breathed  loudly;  then  stilled  that  breath  to  listen, 
his  head  moving  with  frequent,  short  jerks  as  he 
saw  objects  move  past  the  cracks  in  the  building. 
He  switched  his  tail  about  his  hindquarters 
sharply,  and  backed  a  step. 

Another  voice  called  softly  to  Rhues,  and  Rhues 
answered : 

"Dah!  When  I  rolled  him  over  his  holster 
flopped  out  of  his  shirt,  empty.  He  dropped  it 
in  th'  s'loon.  If  he  'd  had  a  gun  he'd  done  fer  us 
'n  there,  would  n't  he?" 

Then  his  voice  was  raised  in  a  sharp  command : 
"Help  him,  Julio!  Hang  on  to  his  ear  an'  he'll 
stand.  Pronto!" 

Sounds  of  men  grunting,  of  a  horse  striving  to 
break  from  them;  a  sharp  cry.  These  things - 
and  emanating  from  a  scene  taking  place  outside 
the  Captain's  sight!  He  half  wheeled  and 
scrubbed  the  back  wall  of  the  stable  with  his  hip, 
blowing  loudly  in  fright.  He  stamped  a  forefoot 


LIFE,   THE   TROPHY  269 

impatiently;  followed  that  by  a  brisk,  nervous 
pawing.  He  tossed  his  head  and  chewed  his  bit 
briskly;  then  shook  his  head  and  blew  loudly 
again.  He  shied  violently  as  a  man  ran  past 
the  door,  wheeled,  crashed  into  the  wall  again 
and,  crouching,  quivered  violently. 

VB  moaned  with  pain.  When  the  horse  under 
him  had  shied  the  boy  had  pushed  himself  erect 
in  the  saddle  and  the  effort  tore  at  the  wound  in 
his  chest.  The  pain  roused  him,  and  as  the 
Captain  again  wheeled,  frantic  to  find  a  way  out 
of  this  pen,  VB's  heels  clapped  inward  to  retain 
his  seat,  the  spurs  drove  home,  and  with  a  whimper 
the  horse  reared  to  his  hind  legs,  lunged  forward, 
and  the  front  hoofs,  shooting  out,  crashed  squarely 
against  the  closed  door! 

Under  the  force  of  the  blow  the  door  swept 
outward,  screaming  on  its  rusty  hinges.  A  third 
of  the  way  open  it  struck  resistance,  quivered, 
seemed  to  hesitate,  then  continued  on  its  arc. 

A  surprised,  muffled  shout,  the  sound  of  a  body 
striking  ground,  a  shot,  its  stream  of  fire  spitting 
toward  the  night  sky.  Then  the  vicious  smiting 
of  hoofs  as  the  Captain,  bearing  his  witless  rider, 
swung  in  a  short  circle  and  made  for  the  river. 

Rhues,  caught  and  knocked  flat  by  the  burst 
ing  open  of  the  door,  was  perhaps  a  half-dozen 
seconds  in  getting  to  his  feet.  He  came  up 
shooting,  a  stream  of  leaden  missiles  shrieking 
aimlessly  off  into  space.  Julio  and  Matson,  busy 
with  the  refractory  buckskin,  heard  the  crash 


27o  "_I   CONQUERED" 

and  creak  of  the  swinging  door,  heard  the  shout, 
heard  the  shot;  they  turned  to  see  the  black 
stallion  sweep  from  the  little  building  and  swirl 
past  them,  ears  back,  teeth  gleaming,  and  bearing 
to  the  north. 

Still  clinging  to  the  buckskin's  head,  the  Mexican 
drew  his  gun;  Matson,  utterly  bewildered,  fearful 
of  impending  consequences,  gave  the  cinch  a 
final  tug,  but  before  Julio  could  fire  the  water  of 
the  river  was  thrown  in  radiant  spray  as  the 
Captain  floundered  into  midstream  with  VB  low 
on  his  neck. 

Then  Rhues  was  on  them,  putting  into  choking 
words  the  vileness  of  his  heart.  He  did  not 
explain  beyond: 

' '  Th'  -     -  horse !    Th'  door  got  me ! " 

He  seized  the  cheek  strap  of  the  buckskin's 
bridle  and  swung  up,  while  the  others  watched 
the  horse  running  out  into  the  moonlit  river. 
The  pony  reared  and  pivoted  on  his  hind  legs. 

"Git  on  yer  hosses!"  Rhues  screeched,  yanking 
at  the  bit.  "He  can't  git  away,  with  his  hoss  run 
down  once  to-night !  An'  if  we  let  him  —  we 
swing!" 

Goaded  by  that  terror  they  obeyed,  hanging 
spurs  in  their  horses'  flanks  before  they  found 
stirrups,  and  the  trio  whirled  down  to  the  water. 

"He's  goin'  home!"  Rhues  cried  above  the 
splashing.  "That's  our  way  out;  we'll  git  him 
as  we  go  'long!  We'll  ride  him  down;  he  ain't 
got  a  gun !  An'  they  '11  find  him  out  yonder  with 


LIFE,   THE  TPOPHY  271 

th'  money  belt  on  him!  We — "  He  broke 
short  with  a  laugh.  "We  could  claim  th'  reward! 
Two  fifty,  dead  'r  alive!" 

Matson  snarled  something.  Then,  as  their 
horses  struggled  up  the  far  bank  of  the  stream, 
completed  it: 

-  with   th'   reward !     What   we   want 's   a 
get-away ! ' ' 

"We're  on  our  way  now,"  growled  Rhues,  and 
lashed  his  pony  viciously  with  the  ends  of  his 
bridle  reins. 

Knee  to  knee  they  raced,  the  ponies  stretching 
their  heads  far  out  in  efforts  to  cover  that  light 
ribbon  of  road  which  clove  the  cloudlike  sage 
brush  and  ate  up  the  distance  between  their 
position  and  that  scudding  blur  ahead.  Each 
had  his  gun  drawn  and  held  high  in  the  right 
hand  ready  for  use;  each,  with  eyes  only  for  that 
before  them,  with  minds  only  for  speed  —  and 
quick  speculation  on  what  might  happen  should 
they  fail. 

The  creak  of  leather,  the  sharp  batter  of  hoofs, 
the  rattle  of  pebbles  as  they  were  thrown  out 
against  the  rocks,  the  excited  breathing  of  horses : 
A  race,  with  human  life  the  trophy! 

And  VB,  looking  back,  saw.  With  set  teeth 
he  leaned  still  lower  over  the  Captain's  neck  in 
spite  of  the  raging  the  posture  set  up  in  his  torn 
breast.  No  will  of  his  had  directed  the  stallion 
in  that  flight  northward.  His  unexpected  dash 
through  the  barn  door,  the  quick  recognition  of 


272  "_1   CONgiTERiiD 

the  point  they  had  scored,  the  sharp  pang  which 
came  when  VB  realized  the  fact  that  the  horsed 
break  for  home  had  cut  him  off  from  help  that 
might  have  remained  in  Ranger,  left  the  wounded 
man  in  a  swirl  of  confused  impressions. 

Behind  all  the  jumble  was  the  big  urge  to  reach 
that  place  which  had  been  the  only  true  haven 
of  his  experience.  He  felt  a  glimmer  of  solace 
when  he  sensed  that  he  was  going  home  which 
quite  neutralized  the  terror  that  the  glance  at 
those  oncoming  riders  provoked.  The  comfort 
inculcated  by  the  idea  grew  into  clear  thinking; 
from  there  on  into  the  status  of  an  obsession. 
He  was  going  home!  He  was  on  the  way,  with 
that  mighty  beast  under  him!  He  raised  more 
of  his  weight  to  the  stirrups  and  laid  a  reassuring 
hand  on  the  snapping  shoulder  of  his  horse. 

And  on  his  trail  rode  the  merciless  three,  their 
eyes  following  the  bending  course  of  the  road, 
hat-brims  now  blown  back  against  the  crowns, 
now  down  over  their  eyes  in  the  rush  through  the 
night.  Rhues  rode  a  quarter  of  a  length  ahead 
of  the  others,  and  his  automatic  was  raised  higher 
than  were  their  gun-hands.  Now  and  then  one 
of  the  trio  spoke  sharply  to  his  horse  and  grunted 
as  he  raked  with  a  spur,  but  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  they  did  not  lift  their  voices  above 
the  thunder  of  the  race.  They  knew  what  must 
happen;  they  held  their  own,  and  waited! 

"Go,  boy,  go!"  whispered  VB.  "We'll  run 
their  legs  off;  they'll  never  get  in  range!" 


LIFE,   THE   TROPHY  273 

The  Captain  held  an  attentive  ear  backward 
a  moment,  then  shot  it  forward,  watching  the 
road,  holding  his  rolling,  space-eating  stride.  VB 
turned  his  head  and  again  looked  back.  They 
were  still  there !  No  nearer  —  but  he  had  not 
shaken  them  off.  Two,  perhaps  three,  miles 
had  been  covered  and  they  hung  by  him,  just 
within  sight,  just  beyond  that  point  where  they 
might  fire  with  an  even  chance  of  certainty.  He 
pressed  his  arm  against  his  burning  breast, 
crowding  the  treasured  money  belt  tighter  against 
the  wound.  Somehow,  it  seemed  to  dull  the  tor 
ment,  and  for  minutes  he  held  the  pressure  con 
stant,  still  lifted  to  supreme  heights  of  endeavor 
and  ability  to  withstand  suffering  by  the  rage 
that  had  welled  up  from  his  depths  as  he  stood 
back  in  the  shadow  of  the  cabin  and  had  the 
suspicion  of  how  and  why  Kelly  had  met  death 
become  certainty. 

Another  mile,  and  he  turned  to  look  back  again. 
They  still  hung  there,  making  a  blur  in  the  moon 
light,  fanciful,  half  floating,  but  he  knew  they 
were  real,  knew  that  they  hammered  their  way 
through  the  night  with  lust  for  his  life! 

' '  Captain ! "  he  cried,  apprehension  rising.  ' '  Go 
it,  boy;  go  it!" 

He  pressed  a  spur  lightly  against  his  side  and 
felt  the  great  beast  quiver  between  strides. 
The  pace  quickened  a  trifle,  but  VB  saw  that  the 
ears  were  no  longer  held  steadily  to  the  fore,  that 
the  head  ducked  with  each  leap  forward  as  he 

18 


274  "—I   CONQUERED" 

had  never  seen  it  duck  before.  And  as  the 
thought  with  its  killing  remorse  thundered  into 
his  intelligence,  VB  sat  erect  in  the  saddle  with 
a  gasp  and  a  movement  which  staggered  the 
running  animal  that  bore  him. 

The  Captain's  strength  had  been  drained!  For 
twenty  strides  VB  sat  there,  inert,  a  dead  weight, 
while  grief  came  into  his  throat,  into  his  vision, 
deadening  his  mind.  In  all  that  melodrama  which 
began  when  he  stared  through  the  saloon  door  and 
saw  Rhues  standing  in  the  moonlight,  gun  ready, 
the  reason  for  his  presence  in  Ranger,  the  history 
of  the  earlier  night,  had  been  obliterated  for  the 
time  being.  Now,  as  he  felt  the  beast  under  him 
labor,  heard  his  heavy  breathing,  saw  the  froth 
on  his  lips,  it  all  came  back  to  Young  VB. 

' '  Oh,  Captain ! "  he  wailed,  leaning  forward 
again,  eyes  burning,  throat  choking. 

And  for  a  long  time  he  rode  as  though  unable 
to  do  else  but  hold  his  position  over  the  fork  of 
the  saddle. 

He  was  stunned,  beaten  down  by  poignant 
remorse.  The  Captain  had  made  the  long  ride 
from  Jed's  to  Ranger  at  a  killing  pace.  VB 
remembered  acutely  now  that  the  stallion  had 
staggered  as  he  emerged  from  Clear  River  and 
came  into  view  of  the  saloon  lights.  And  he 
had  been  there  how  long?  An  hour  of  poker, 
perhaps;  an  hour  more  at  the  outside.  Two 
hours  for  the  horse  to  regain  the  strength  that 
had  been  taken  from  him  in  that  cruel  ride  —  a 


LIFE,   THE  TROPHY  275 

ride  taken  to  satisfy  the  viciousness  which  made 
VB  a  man  uncertain  of  himself ! 

The  Captain  had  been  wasted!  He  had  gone, 
as  had  VB's  heart  and  mind,  to  be  a  sacrifice  for 
hideous  gods!  In  an  hour  of  weakness  he  had 
been  offered,  had  been  given  gladly,  and  without 
thought  of  his  value!  For  had  not  VB  gloried 
in  that  ride  to  Ranger?  Had  it  not  been  the  end 
of  all  things  for  him?  An  end  for  which  he  was 
thankful  ?  Had  it  not  been  all  conscious,  witting, 
planned  ?  It  had  —  and  it  had  not  been  worth 
the  candle! 

The  boy  moaned  aloud  and  wound  his  fingers 
in  the  flapping  mane. 

"Captain!"  he  cried.  "It  was  all  wrong  — 
all  false!  I  threw  you  away  an  hour  ago,  and 
now  —  you're  life  to  me!  Oh,  boy,  will  you 
forgive?  Can  you?" 

No  fear  of  death  tapped  the  wells  of  his  grief. 
There  was  only  sorrow  for  his  wasting  of  that 
great  animal,  that  splendid  spirit,  that  clean 
strength ! 

After  a  moment  he  sobbed:  "You  can't  do 
anything  else  but  go  on,  boy !  You  're  that  sort ! 
You'll  go,  then  I'll  go;  anyhow,  it  will  be  to 
gether!" 

And  the  great  beast,  blowing  froth  from  his 
lips,  struggled  on,  while  from  behind  came  the 
sounds  of  other  running  horses  —  perhaps  a 
trifle  nearer. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

VICTORY 

THE  road  writhed  on  through  the  sage  brush 
sixteen  miles  from  Ranger  before  it  branched. 
Then  to  the  right  ran  the  S  Bar  S  route,  while 
straight  on  it  headed  into  Jed's  ranch,  and  the 
left-hand  course,  shooting  away  from  the  others 
behind  a  long,  rocky  point,  followed  Sand  Creek 
up  to  the  cluster  of  buildings  which  marked  the 
domicile  of  Dick  Worth. 

It  was  more  than  halfway.  The  Captain,  now 
trotting  heavily,  now  breaking  once  more  into 
a  floundering  gallop,  passed  the  first  fork,  that 
leading  toward  Worth's.  With  a  gulp  of  relief 
VB  saw  that  the  moon  hung  low  in  the  west  — 
so  low  that  the  road  home  would  be  in  the  shadow 
of  the  point,  which  seemed  to  come  down  pur 
posely  to  split  the  highway.  He  might  then 
find  refuge  in  darkness  somewhere.  He  mus> 
have  refuge! 

At  the  tenth  mile  he  had  suspected,  now  h^ 
knew,  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  stand  oiP1 
his  pursuers  clear  to  the  ranch,  and  there  were  n' 
habitations  between  him  and  Jed's. 

"They  haven't  gained  on  you,  boy!"  he  cried 
as  he  made  out  the  distinct  outlines  of  the  point . 
"They're  right  where  they  were  at  the  star!  ! 

276 


VICTORY  277 

No  other  horse   in   the  world   could  have  done 
it ;  not  even  you  should  be  asked  to  do  it  —  but  - 
out—" 

He  choked  back  the  sob  that  fought  to  come. 
He  knew  he  must  concentrate  his  last  energy,, 
now.  If  he  came  through  there  would  be  time 
to  think  of  his  crime  against  the  Captain!  But 
now  -  Futures  depend  on  lives.  His  life  dan 
gled  in  the  balance,  and  he  wanted  it,  as  men 
can  want  life  only  when  they  feel  it  slipping. 

Back  there  three  men  raked  the  streaming  sides 
of  their  ponies  with  vicious  spurs. 

"He  can't  make  it!"  Rhues  swore.  "Th' 
black's  quittin'  now!  If  he  gits  away,  what 
chance  we  got?  We  got  to  git  him!  It'll  give 
us  th'  last  chance!" 

"We're  killin'  our  horses,"  growled  Matson. 

And  Julio,  a  length  behind,  flogged  his  pinto 
mercilessly. 

No  craving  for  VB's  life  prompted  Rhues 
now.  He  must  go  on  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
safety.  He  and  those  other  two  had  all  to  gain 
and  nothing  to  lose.  If  they  could  drop  the  man 
ahead  it  would  be  possible  to  skirt  the  ranches, 
catch  fresh  horses,  and  make  on  toward  Wyoming. 
But  let  VB  gain  shelter  with  Jed  or  any  one  else, 
and  a  posse  would  be  on  their  trail  before  they 
could  be  beyond  reach. 

No,  there  could  be  no  turning  back !  They  had 
made  their  bet;  now  they  must  back  it  with  the 
whole  stack.  And  before  them  —  that  blot  in  the 


278  "_I   CONQUERED" 

moonlight  —  a  wounded,  suffering  man  cried  aloud 
to  the  horse  that  moved  so  heavily  under  him. 

"Make  it  to  the  point,  Captain!"  he  begged. 
"Just  there!  It'll  be  dark!  Only  a  little  faster, 
boy!" 

The  stallion  grunted  under  the  stress  of  his 
effort,  moving  for  the  moment  with  less  uncer 
tainty,  with  a  jot  more  speed. 

They  crawled  up  to  the  point  and  followed  the 
bend  of  the  road  as  it  led  into  the  dimness  of 
the  gulch.  Across  the  way,  far  to  the  right, 
moonlight  fell  on  the  cliffs,  but  where  the 
road  hung  close  to  the  rise  at  the  left  all  was  in 
shadow. 

To  VB,  entering  the  murk  was  like  plunging  from 
the  heat  of  glaring  day  to  the  cool  of  a  forest. 

The  men  behind  him  would  be  forced  to  come 
twice  as  close  before  they  could  make  firing 
effective.  Then,  when  he  reached  the  ranch  — 

He  threw  out  an  arm  in  a  gesture  of  utter  hope 
lessness.  Reach  the  ranch?  He  laughed  aloud, 
mocking  his  own  guilelessness.  He  had  come 
only  a  little  more  than  half  the  distance  now, 
and  Captain  could  scarcely  be  held  at  a  trot. 
Three  miles,  possibly  five,  he  might  last,  and  then 
his  rider  would  have  to  face  his  pursuers  with 
empty  hands. 

His  was  the  very  epitome  of  despair.  A  weaker 
man  would  have  quit  then,  would  have  let  the 
stallion  flounder  to  his  finish,  would  have  waited  sub 
missively  for  Rhues  to  come  and  shoot  him  down. 


VICTORY  279 

But  VB  possessed  the  strength  of  his  desperation. 

Rhues  might  get  him  now,  as  he  had  tried  to 
get  him  twice  before,  but  he  would  get  him  by 
fighting.  Not  wholly  for  himself  did  the  boy 
think,  but  for  the  likable,  friendly  Kelly,  who  had 
died  there  in  his  blankets  without  warning.  If 
he  could  rid  men  of  the  menace  which  Rhues 
represented  he  would  have  done  service,  and  the 
life  of  those  last  months  had  implanted  within 
him  the  will  to  be  of  use  —  though,  a  few  hours 
back,  he  might  have  thought  it  all  a  delusion. 

So  VB  was  alert  with  the  acute  alertness  of 
mind  which  is  given  to  humans  when  forced  to 
fight  to  preserve  life  —  when  everything,  the 
buried  subconscious  impulses,  the  forgotten, 
tucked-away  memories,  are  in  the  fore,  crying  to 
help.  Abandoning  hope  of  reaching  Jed's,  he 
turned  all  his  physical  force,  even,  into  the 
mental  effort  to  seek  a  way  out;  fought  his  way 
to  clarified  thought,  fought  his  way  into  logic. 
He  could  not  go  on  much  longer;  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  turning  back,  for  he  could  hear 
them,  nearer  now!  He  could  hear  the  click  of 
pebbles  as  his  pursuers'  horses  sent  them  scatter 
ing,  and  a  pebble  click  will  not  travel  far.  Ahead 
-weakening  muscles;  behind  —  guns  ready;  to 
the  right  —  moonlight;  to  the  left  — 

The  bridle  rein  drew  across  the  Captain's 
lathered  neck.  The  big  beast  swung  to  the  left, 
out  of  the  road,  crashed  through  the  brush,  and 
lunged  against  the  rise  of  rocks. 


2 So  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  horse  seemed  to  sense  the  fact  that  this 
was  the  one  remaining  chance,  the  last  possi 
bility  left  in  their  bag  of  tricks.  He  picked  his 
way  up  among  the  ragged  bowlders  and  spiked 
brush  with  a  quickness  of  movement  that  told 
of  the  breaking  through  into  those  reservoirs  of 
strength  which  are  held  in  man  and  bea,st  until 
a  last  hope  is  found. 

VB  went  suddenly  faint.  The  loss  of  blood, 
the  pain,  the  stress  of  nervous  thought,  the  know 
ing  that  his  full  hand  was  on  the  table,  caused 
him  to  reel  dizzily  in  the  saddle.  He  made  no 
pretense  of  guiding  the  Captain.  He  merely 
sagged  forward  and  felt  the  horse  lunge  and 
plunge  and  climb  with  him,  heard  the  rasping 
breath  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  torn  throat. 

Below  and  behind,  the  trailers  swept  from 
moonlight  into  shadow,  horses  wallowing  as 
though  that  hard  road  were  in  deep  mud,  so  great 
was  the  race  that  the  stallion,  spent  though  he 
might  be,  had  given  them.  Rhues  was  ahead, 
revolver  held  higher  than  before,  Matson's  pony 
at  his  flank  and  Julio  a  dozen  lengths  behind. 
Bridle  reins,  knotted,  hung  loosely  on  their 
horses'  necks;  the  three  left  hands  rose  and  fell 
and  quirts  swished  viciously  through  the  night  air. 

"We  got  to  close  in!"  Rhues  cried.  "We'll 
have  him  'n  a  mile!" 

And  he  called  down  on  the  heads  of  the  horses 
awful  imprecations  for  their  weakness. 

On    into    the    darkness    they    stormed,    Julio 


VICTORY  281 

trailing.  And  when  Rhues  had  passed  by  fifty 
yards  the  point  where  the  Captain  had  turned  to 
take  the  steep  climb  the  Mexican  opened  his 
throat  in  a  cry,  half  of  fright,  half  of  exultation. 

The  Captain,  almost  at  the  end  of  his  climb, 
leaping  from  rise  to  rise,  had  missed  his  footing. 
The  soft  earth  slid  as  he  jumped  for  a  ledge  of 
rock,  and  the  front  feet,  coming  down  on  the 
smooth  surface  in  frantic  clawing  to  prevent  a 
fall,  sent  fire  streaming  from  their  shoes.  In  the 
darkness  Julio  had  seen  the  orange  sparks.  At 
his  cry  the  others  set  their  ponies  back  on  haunches 
and,  following  the  Mexican,  who  now  led,  cursing 
VB  and  their  weakening  mounts,  they  com 
menced  the  climb.  VB  knew.  The  flash  from 
the  stallion's  feet  had  roused  him;  he  heard  the 
shout;  he  knew  what  must  follow.  He  gave  no 
heed  to  the  bullet  which  bored  the  air  above 
him  as  he  was  silhouetted  for  the  instant  against 
moonlit  space  before  he  commenced  the  drop 
to  the  road  leading  up  Sand  Creek. 

Where  now?  With  a  sigh  which  ended  in  a 
quick  choking,  as  though  he  were  through,  ready 
to  give  up  this  ghost  of  a  chance,  ready  to  quit 
struggling  on,  the  Captain  dropped  from  the  last 
little  rim  and  turned  into  the  road.  Not  on  ahead 
-  into  that  void  where  they  could  ride  him  down. 
Not  back  toward  Ranger,  for  it  was  impossibly 
far.  Where  then?  What  was  there?  Sand 
Creek!  And  up  Sand  Creek  was  Dick  Worth's! 

VB  caught  his  breath  in  a  sob.     It  was  the  one 


282  "__I   CONQUERED" 

goal  open  to  him,  though  the  odds  were  crushing. 
He  pressed  the  money  belt  tightly.  Dick  Worth 
was  the  man  who  should  have  that  —  Dick 
Worth,  deputy  sheriff!  He  lifted  his  voice  and 
cried  aloud  the  name  of  the  deputy. 

To  the  north  once  more  the  Captain  headed, 
and  with  no  word  from  VB  took  up  the  floundering 
way  again.  The  boy  looked  behind  and  saw  the 
others  commence  the  drop  down  the  moonlit 
point  —  saw  one  of  the  blurs  slump  quickly  and 
heard  a  man  scream.  Then  he  leaned  low  on  the 
stallion  and  talked  to  the  horse  as  he  would  talk 
to  a  child  who  could  pilot  him  to  safety. 

Behind  him,  along  the  road,  came  the  blot 
again,  now,  however,  smaller.  VB  did  not  know 
that  it  was  Julio  who  had  fallen,  but  he  knew 
with  a  fierce  delight  that  the  Captain,  running 
on  his  bare  spirit,  had  killed  off  one  of  the 
pursuers ! 

The  boy  grew  hysterical.  He  chattered  to  the 
stallion,  knowing  nothing  of  the  words  he  uttered. 
At  times  his  lips  moved  but  uttered  no  sound. 
Continually  his  hands  sought  his  breast.  He 
knew  from  the  dampness  that  crept  down  his 
side,  on  down  into  the  trouser  leg,  that  the  wound 
still  bled,  that  his  life  was  running  out  through 
the  gash. 

Through  the  clamoring  of  his  heart  a  familiar 
ache  came  into  his  throat,  and  the  boy  lifted  his 
voice  into  the  night  with  a  rant  of  rage,  of  self- 
denunciation. 


VICTORY  283 

"Oh,  Captain!  You  were  the  price!"  he 
moaned. 

But  still  he  wanted  —  just  one  drink !  Not  to 
satisfy  that  craving  now,  but  to  keep  him  alive, 
a  legitimate  use  for  stimulant. 

The  stallion  ceased  pretense  of  galloping. 
Now  and  then  he  even  dropped  from  his  uncer 
tain  trotting  to  a  walk. 

VB,  watching  behind,  could  just  make  out 
those  other  travelers  in  the  light  of  the  low- 
hanging  moon  which  seemed  to  balance  on  the 
ragged  horizon  and  linger  for  sight  of  the  finish 
of  this  grim  drama  worked  out  in  the  lonely 
stretches.  As  the  horse  stumbled  more  and 
more  frequently  under  him  VB  knew  that  those 
wrho  pressed  him  were  coming  closer.  Then 
a  flash  of  flame  and  a  bullet  spattered  itself 
against  a  rock  ahead  and  to  the  right. 

"They're  closer,  Captain!"  he  muttered  grimly. 
"The  game's  going  against  us  —  against  you. 
I'm  too  much  of  a  burden  —  too  much  weight." 

His  mind  seized  upon  the  aimless  words.  The 
suddenness  of  his  shifting  in  the  saddle  made 
the  stallion  stagger,  for  VB's  whole  weight  went 
into  the  right  stirrup.  He  drew  the  other  up 
with  fiendish  tinges  shooting  through  his  breast 
and  tore  at  the  cinch.  It  came  loose.  The 
saddle  turned.  VB  flung  his  arms  about  the 
Captain's  neck  and  kicked  it  from  under  him. 

"Fifty     pounds     gone!"     he     muttered     tri 
umphantly,    and    the    horse    tossed    his    head, 


284  "—I   CONQUERED" 

quickening  the  trot,  trying  once  again  the  heavy 
gallop. 

VB  could  hear  the  horse  breathing  through  his 
mouth.  He  looked  down  and  saw  that  the  long 
tongue  flopped  from  the  lips  with  every  movement 
of  the  fine  head.  Tears  came  to  his  eyes  as  he 
caressed  the  Captain's  withers  frantically. 

"Can  I  do  more,  boy?"  he  asked  in  a  strained 
voice.  "Can  I  do  more?" 

It  was  as  though  he  pleaded  with  a  dying 
human. 

"Yes,  I  can  do  more!"  he  cried  a  moment  later 
in  answer  to  his  own  question.  "You've  given 
your  whole  to  me ;  now  I  '11  give  you  back  your 
freedom,  make  you  as  free  as  you  were  the  day 
I  took  you.  I'll  strip  you,  boy!" 

He  reached  far  out  along  the  neck,  drawing 
his  weight  up  on  the  withers,  and  loosed  the 
head-stall.  The  bridle  fell  into  the  road  and  the 
Captain  ran  naked!  And,  as  though  to  show  his 
gratitude,  the  horse  shook  his  head  groggily  and 
reeled  on  in  his  crazy  progress. 

A  half  mile  farther  on  the  Captain  fell.  VB 
went  down  heavily  and  mounted  the  waiting 
horse  again  in  a  daze  —  from  which  he  was 
roused  by  the  fresh  gushing  on  his  breast. 
Another  shot  from  behind  —  then  two  close 
together. 

Dawn  was  coming.  He  looked  around  vaguely. 
The  moon  was  slipping  away.  Perhaps  yet  it 
would  be  in  at  the  finish.  The  shimmering  light 


VICTORY  285 

of  new  day  was  taking  from  objects  their  ghostly 
quality;  making  them  real.  The  men  behind 
could  see  VB  —  and  they  were  .  firing ! 

The  boy  said  no  word  to  the  Captain.  He 
merely  clamped  his  knees  tighter  and  leaned 
lower  on  his  neck.  He  had  ceased  to  think, 
ceased  to  struggle.  His  trust,  his  life,  was  in  the 
shaking  legs  of  the  animal  he  rode,  whose  sweat 
soaked  through  his  clothing  to  mingle  with  the 
blood  there. 

The  stallion  breathed  in  great  moaning  sobs, 
as  though  his  heart  were  bursting,  as  though  his 
lungs  were  raw  and  bleeding.  He  reeled  from 
side  to  side  crazily.  Now  and  then  he  ran  out 
of  the  road  and  floundered  blindly  back.  His 
head  hung  low,  almost  to  his  knees,  and  swung 
from  side  to  side  with  each  step,  and  at  intervals 
he  raised  it  as  though  it  were  a  great  weight,  to 
gasp  —  and  to  sob ! 

From  behind,  bullets.  Rhues  and  Matson  fired 
grimly.  They  had  ceased  to  lash  their  ponies, 
for  it  was  useless.  The  beasts  were  beyond  giving 
better  service  in  return  for  punishment.  Their 
sides  dripped  blood,  but  they  were  beyond  suffer 
ing.  Handicapped  as  he  had  been,  the  Captain 
had  held  them  off,  almost  stride  for  stride. 

Better  light  now,  but  their  shooting  could  not 
hope  to  find  a  mark  except  through  chance.  They 
cursed  in  glad  snarls  as  they  saw  the  stallion  reel, 
sink  to  his  knees;  then  snarled  again  as  they  saw 
him  recover  and  go  on  at  his  drunken  trot. 


2 86  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Before  VB's  eyes  floated  a  blotch  of  color.  It 
was  golden,  a  diffused  light  that  comforted  him; 
that,  for  some  incomprehensible  reason,  was 
soothing  to  the  senses.  It  eased  the  wound,  too, 
and  put  new  strength  in  his  heart  so  that  he  could 
feel  the  warm  blood  seeping  slowly  into  his  numb 
arms  and  hands  and  fingers.  He  smiled  foolishly 
and  hugged  the  Captain's  neck  as  the  horse  reeled 
along.  Oh,  it  was  a  glorious  color!  He  remem 
bered  the  day  he  had  seen  a  little  patch  of  it 
scudding  along  the  roadway  in  the  sunshine. 
Why,  it  had  seemed  like  concentrated  sunshine 
itself. 

' '  Gail, ' '  he  murmured.  ' '  It  was  you  —  I  did  n't 
want  to  put  —  that  mark  —  on  you!" 

The  nature  of  that  color  became  clear  to  him 
and  he  roused  himself.  It  was  a  light  —  a  light 
in  a  window  —  the  window  of  a  ranch  house  — 
Dick  Worth's  ranch  house! 

Bullets  had  ceased  to  zip  and  sing  and  spatter. 
He  did  not  turn  to  see  what  had  become  of  his 
pursuers,  for  -he  was  capable  of  only  one  thought 
at  a  time. 

' '  Dick  Worth !    Dick  Worth ! "  he  screamed. 

Then  he  looked  behind.  Away  to  the  left  he 
saw  two  riders  pushing  through  the  dawn,  de- 
touring.  And  he  laughed,  almost  gayly. 

Another  blotch  of  light,  a  bigger  one,  showed 
in  the  young  day.  It  was  an  opened  door,  and 
a  deep  chest  gave  forth  an  answer  to  his  cry. 
Dick  Worth  stepped  from  the  threshold  of  his 


VICTORY  287 

home  and  ran  to  the  gate  to  see  better  this  crazy 
figure  which  lurched  toward  him.  It  was  a  man 
on  foot,  hatless,  his  face  gray  like  the  sky  above, 
hair  tousled,  eyes  glowing  red.  He  stumbled 
to  the  fence  and  leaned  there  for  support,  holding 
something  forward,  something  limp  and  blood 
stained. 

' '  Dick  —  it 's  Kelly 's  money  belt  —  Rhues  — 
he  killed  him  —  He  shot  me  —  he 's  got  the 
money  —  on  him  —  he 's  swinging  off  west  — 
two  of  'em —  Their  horses  are — all  in —  He- 
he  shot  Kelly  because  —  I  would  n't  take  —  a 
drink  —  he  —  and  I  need  —  a  —  drink  —  " 

He  slumped  down  against  the  fence. 

After  an  uncertain  age  VB  swam  back  from 
that  mental  vacuity  to  reality.  He  saw,  first, 
that  the  Captain  was  beside  him,  standing  there 
breathing  loudly,  eyes  closed,  sobbing  low  at 
every  heave  of  his  lungs. 

A  quavering  moan  made  its  way  to  the  boy's 
throat  and  he  moved  over,  reaching  out  groping 
arms  for  the  stallion's  lowered  head. 

"Captain!"  he  moaned.  "Oh,  boy  —  it  was 
our  last  ride  —  I  can  never  —  ask  you  to  carry 
me  —  again." 

He  hugged  the  face  closer  to  his. 

Then  he  heard  a  man's  voice  saying: 

"Here,  VB,  take  this  —  it'll  brace  you  up!" 

He  turned  his  face  slowly,  for  the  strength  that 
remained  was  far  from  certain.  His  wound  was 


288  "_I   CONQUERED" 

on  fire,  every  nerve  of  his  body  laid  bare.  His 
will  to  do  began  and  ended  with  wanting  to  hold 
that  horse's  head  close.  He  was  as  a  child, 
stripped  of  every  effect  that  the  experiences  of  his 
life  could  have  had.  He  was  weak,  broken, 
unwittingly  searching  for  a  way  back  to  strength. 

He  turned  his  head  halfway  and  beheld  the 
man  stooping  beside  him  who  held  in  his  hands 
a  bottle,  uncorked,  and  from  it  came  a  strong 
odor. 

The  boy  dilated  his  nostrils  and  drew  great 
breaths  laden  with  the  fumes  of  the  stuff.  A 
new  life  came  into  his  eyes.  They  shone,  they 
sparkled.  Activity  came  to  those  bare  nerves, 
and  they  raised  their  demands. 

He  opened  his  mouth  and  let  the  odor  he  in 
haled  play  across  that  place  in  his  throat.  The 
smell  went  on  out  through  his  arteries,  through 
his  veins,  along  the  nerves  to  the  ends  of  his 
being,  to  the  core  of  his  soul!  He  was  down, 
down  in  the  depths,  his  very  ego  crying  for  the 
stimulant,  for  something  to  help  it  come  back. 

He  coaxed  along  that  yearning,  let  it  rise  to 
its  fullest.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  meet  the 
concerned  gaze  of  the  other  man.  And  the  man 
saw  in  those  eyes  a  look  that  made  him  sway 
back,  that  made  him  open  his  lips  in  surprise. 

"To  hell  with  that  stuff!"  the  boy  screamed. 
"To  hell  with  it!  To  hell  — to  hell!  It  belongs 
there!  It  —  it  killed  the  Captain!" 

Tears  came  with  the  sobs,   and  strength  to 


VICTORY  289 

the  arms  that  held  the  stallion's  head;  strength 
that  surged  through  his  entire  body,  stilling  those 
nerves,  throttling  the  crying  of  his  throat.  For 
VB  had  gone  down  to  his  test,  his  real  ordeal, 
and  had  found  himself  not  wanting. 


19 


CHAPTER   XXV 

"THE  LIGHT!" 

JED  AVERY  sat  alone.  It  was  night,  a 
moonlight  night  in  Colorado,  the  whole 
world  bathed  in  a  cold  radiance  that  conduces 
to  dreams  and  fantasies. 

But  as  he  sat  alone  Jed's  mind  wove  no  light 
reveries.  Far  from  it,  indeed.  He  was  sodden 
in  spirit,  weakened  in  nerve. 

He  rested  his  body  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  seat 
and  leaned  far  forward,  elbows  on  his  knees. 
His  fingers  twined  continually,  and  on  occasion 
one  fist  hammered  the  palm  of  the  other  hand. 

"You  old  fool!"  he  whispered.  "You  old 
fool!  Now,  if  he's  gone  —  " 

For  twenty-four  hours  he  had  not  dared  frame 
the  words. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  window,  and  against 
the  moonlight  stood  a  bottle,  its  outlines  dis 
torted  by  incrustings  of  tallow.  No  candle  was 
in  its  neck.  There  was  only  the  bottle. 

After  a  time  the  old  man  got  up  and  paced  the 
floor,  three  steps  each  way  from  the  splotch  of 
moonlight  that  came  through  the  window.  He 
had  been  walking  that  way  for  a  night  and  a  day 
—  and  now  it  was  another  night. 

While  it  was  daylight  he  had  walked  outside, 

290 


"THE   LIGHT!"  291 

eyes  ever  on  the  road,  hoping,  fearing.  And  no 
one  had  come!  Now,  as  the  night  wore  on  and 
the  boy  did  not  return,  Jed's  condition  bordered 
on  distraction. 

His  pacing  became  faster  and  more  fast.  He 
lengthened  the  limits  of  his  walk  to  those  of  the 
room,  and  finally  in  desperation  jerked  open  the 
door  to  walk  outside. 

But  he  did  not  leave  the  threshold.  Two 
figures,  a  man  and  a  horse,  coming  up  the  road 
held  him  as  though  robbed  of  the  will  to  move. 
He  stood  and  stared,  breathing  irregularly.  The 
man,  who  walked  ahead,  made  his  way  slowly 
toward  the  gate.  He  was  followed  by  the  horse, 
followed  as  a  dog  might  follow,  for  not  so  much 
as  a  strap  was  on  the  animal.  The  man's  move 
ments  were  painful,  those  of  the  horse  deliberate. 

Jed  knew  both  those  figures  too  well  to  be  mis 
taken,  even  though  his  sight  dimmed. 

He  wanted  to  cry  out,  but  dared  not.  One 
question  alone  crowded  to  get  past  his  teeth. 
The  answer  would  mean  supremest  joy  or  sorrow. 
Fear  of  the  latter  held  him  mute. 

The  man  unfastened  the  gate  and  let  it  swing 
open.  "Come,  boy,"  he  said  gently,  and  the  big 
animal  stepped  inside. 

With  the  same  slow  movements  again,  the  man 
closed  the  bars. 

Jed  stood  silent.  A  coyote  high  on  the  hills 
lifted  his  voice  in  a  thin  yapping,  and  the  sound 
made  Old  VB  shiver. 


2Q2  "_I   CONQUERED" 

The  boy  came  slowly  toward  the  house.  He 
saw  Jed,  but  gave  no  sign,  nor  did  the  old  man 
move.  He  stood  there,  eyes  on  the  other  in  a 
misted  stare,  and  VB  stopped  before  him,  putting 
a  hand  against  the  wall  for  support. 

Then  came  the  question,  popping  its  way 
through  unwilling,  tight  lips: 

"Shall  I  light  th'  candle,  Young  VB?" 

His  voice  was  shrill,  strained,  vibrant  with 
anxiety.  But  VB  did  not  answer  —  merely  lifted 
a  hand  to  his  hot  head. 

"VB,  when  you  left  last  night  th'  candle 
dropped  down  into  th'  bottle  an'  went  out. 
I  did  n't  dare  light  a  new  one  to-night  -  His 
voice  broke,  and  he  paused  a  moment.  "I 
did  n't  dare  light  it  until  I  knowed.  I  've  been 
settin'  in  th'  dark  here,  thinkin'  things  —  tryin' 
not  to  think  dark  things." 

One  hand  went  halfway  to  his  mouth  in  fear 
as  he  waited  for  the  other  to  answer.  VB  put 
a  hand  on  Jed's  shoulder,  and  the  old  man  clamped 
his  cold  fingers  over  it  desperately. 

"Yes,  Jed  — light  it,"  he  said  huskily.  Then 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  the  old  man  with 
a  half  smile.  "Light  it,  Jed.  Let  it  burn  on 
and  on,  just  for  the  sake  of  being  bright.  But  we 
—  we  don't  need  it  any  more.  Not  for  the  old 
reason,  Jed." 

The  cold  hand  twitched  as  it  gripped  the  hot  one. 

"Not  for  the  old  reason,  Jed,"  VB  continued. 
"There's  a  bigger,  better,  truer  light  burning 


"THE  LIGHT!"  293 

now.  It  won't  slip  into  the  bottle;  it  can't  be 
blown  out.  It  did  n't  waver  when  the  true  crisis 
came.  It'll  always  burn;  it  won't  slip  down  into 
the  bottle.  It's  —  it's  the  real  thing." 

He  staggered  forward,  and  Jed  caught  him, 
sobbing  like  a  woman,  a  happy  woman. 

They  had  the  whole  story  over  then  by  the 
light  of  a  fresh  candle. 

When  Jed  started  forward  with  a  cry  at  the 
recital  of  the  shooting  VB  pushed  him  off. 

"  It 's  only  a  flesh  wound ;  it  don't  matter  - 
much.     Mrs.  Worth  dressed  it,  and  I  'm  all  right. 
It's   the   Captain    I   want   to   tell   about  —  the 
Captain,  Jed!" 

And  he  told  it  all,  in  short,  choking  sentences, 
stripping  his  soul  naked  for  the  little  rancher. 
He  did  not  spare  himself,  not  one  lone  lash.  He 
ended,  crushed  and  bleeding  before  the  eyes  of 
his  friend.  After  a  pause  he  straightened  back 
in  his  chair,  the  new  fire  in  his  eyes,  the  fire  the 
man  at  Worth's  had  seen  when  he  offered  drink. 

"But  I've  got  to  make  it  up  to  the  Captain 
now,"  he  said  with  a  wild  little  laugh.  "I've  got 
to  go  on.  He  gave  me  the  chance.  He  took  me 
into  blackness,  into  the  test  I  needed,  and  brought 
me  back  to  light.  I  've  got  to  be  a  man,  Jed  - 
a  man — " 

And  throughout  the  night  Jed  Avery  tended 
the  wound  and  watched  and  muttered  —  with 
joy  in  his  heart. 


294  "—I   CONQUERED" 

Morning  came,  with  quieted  nerves  for  VB. 
He  lay  in  the  bunk,  weak,  immobile. 

Jed  came  in  from  tending  the  horses. 

"He  didn't  bleed,  did  he,  VB?" 

"No." 

"It  ain't  what  you  thought,  sonny.  It  ain't 
bad.  Give  him  a  rest  an'  he'll  be  better 'n  ever. 
Why,  he's  out  there  now,  head  up,  whisperin' 
for  you!  You  can't  break  a  spirit  like  his  unless 
you  tear  his  vitals  out ! " 

VB  smiled,  and  the  smile  swelled  to  a  laugh. 

"Oh,  Jed,  it  makes  me  so  happy!  But  it 
won't  be  as  it  was.  I  can  never  let  him  carry 
me  again." 

The  old  man  turned  on  the  boy  a  puzzled  look. 

"What  you  goin'  to  do  with  him,  VB  —  turn 
him  loose  again?" 

"Not  that,  Jed;  he  would  n't  be  happy.  He'll 
never  carry  me  again,  but  perhaps  —  perhaps  he 
could  carry  a  light  rider  —  a  girl  —  a  woman." 

And  from  Jed:     "Oh-o-o-o!" 

An  interval  of  silence. 

"That  is,"  muttered  VB,  "if  she'll  take  him, 
and—" 

"Would  you  want  him  away  from  you?"  the 
old  man  insisted. 

"Oh,  I  hope  it  won't  be  that,  Jed!  I  hope 
not  —  but  I  want  her  to  —  You  understand. 
Jed?  You  understand?" 

The  other  nodded  his  head,  a  look  of  grave 
tenderness  in  the  old  eyes. 


"THE   LIGHT!"  295 

"Then  —  then,  Jed,  I'm  all  right.  I  can  get 
along  alone.  Would  you  mind  riding  over  and  — 
asking  her  if  she  'd  come  — 

' '  You  see,  Jed,  I  know  now.  I  did  n't  before  — 
I  'm  sure  it 's  worth  the  candle  —  and  there  '11  be 
no  more  darkness;  no  lasting  night  for  her  if — " 

Jed  walked  slowly  out  into  the  other  room  and 
picked  up  his  spurs.  VB  heard  him  strap  them 
on,  heard  his  boots  stamp  across  the  floor  and 
stop. 

"I'd  go,  VB,  but  it  ain't  necessary." 

The  boy  raised  his  head,  and  to  his  ears  came 
the  bellow  of  a  high-powered  motor,  the  sound 
growing  more  distinct  with  each  passing  second. 

"Lord,  how  that  woman's  drivin'!"  Jed  cried. 
"Lordy!"  And  he  ran  from  the  house. 

The  bellow  of  the  motor  rose  to  a  sound  like 
batteries  of  Catlings  in  action;  then  came  the 
wail  of  brakes. 

With  a  pulsing  thrill  VB  heard  her  voice  up 
raised  —  with  such  a  thrill  that  he  did  not  catch 
the  dread  in  her  tone  as  she  questioned  Jed. 

She  came  to  him  swiftly,  eyes  dimmed  with 
tears,  without  words,  and  knelt  by  his  bunk, 
hands  clasped  about  his  head.  For  many  minutes 
they  were  so,  VB  gripping  her  fine,  firm  forearms. 
Then  she  raised  her  face  high. 

"And  you  wouldn't  let  me  help?"  she  asked 
querulously. 

He  looked  at  her  long  and  soberly,  and  took 
both  her  hands  in  his. 


296  '_!   CONQUERED" 

"It  was  the  one  place  you  couldn't  help,"  he 
muttered.  "It  was  that  sort  —  my  love,  I 
mean.  I  had  to  know;  had  to  know  that  I 
would  n't  put  a  hateful  mark  on  you  by  loving. 
I  had  to  know  that.  Don't  you  see?" 

She  moved  closer  and  came  between  him  and 
the  sunshine  that  poured  through  the  open  door. 
The  glorious  light  was  caught  by  her  hair  and 
thrown,  it  seemed,  to  the  veriest  corners  of  the 
dingy  little  room. 

"The  light!"  he  cried. 

She  settled  against  him,  her  lips  on  his,  and 
clung  so.  From  outside  came  the  shrilling  call 
of  the  Captain.  VB  crushed  her  closer. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

To  THE  VICTOR 

T  IP  the  flagged  walk  to  the  house  of  chill, 
^  white  stone  overlooking  the  North  River 
went  a  messenger,  and  through  the  imposing  front 
portal  he  handed  a  letter,  hidden  away  in  a  sheaf 
of  others.  A  modest-appearing  letter;  indeed, 
perhaps  something  less  than  modest;  possibly 
humble,  for  its  corners  were  crumpled  and  its 
edges  frayed.  Yet,  of  all  the  packages  handed 
him,  Daniel  Lenox,  alone  at  his  breakfast, 
singled  it  out  for  the  earliest  attention. 
And  what  he  read  was  this: 

DEAR  FATHER: 

In  my  last  letter — written  ten  years  ago,  it  seems — 
I  promised  to  tell  you  my  whereabouts  when  I  had 
achieved  certain  ends.  I  now  write  to  tell  you  that 
I  am  at  the  Thorpe  Ranch,  one  hundred  and  thirty 
miles  northwest  of  Colt,  Colorado,  the  nearest  railroad 
point. 

I  can  inform  you  of  this  now  because  I  have  won 
my  fight  against  the  thing  which  would  have  stripped 
me  of  my  manhood.  And  I  want  to  make  clear  the 
point  that  it  was  you,  father,  who  showed  me  the  way, 
who  made  me  realize  to  what  depths  I  had  gone. 

I  am  very  humble,  for  I  know  the  powers  that  rule 
men. 

When  I  left  New  York  there  was  little  in  me  to 

297 


298  "—I   CONQUERED" 

interest  you,  but  I  am  making  bold  enough  to  tell  you 
of  the  greatest  thing  in  my  life.  I  have  won  the  love 
of  a  good  woman.  We  are  to  be  married  here  the 
twentieth,  and  some  day  I  will  want  to  bring  her  East 
with  me.  I  hope  you  will  want  to  see  her. 

Your  son, 

DANNY. 

While  the  hand  of  the  big  clock  made  a  quarter 
circle  the  man  sat  inert  in  his  chair;  limp,  weak 
in  body,  spirit,  and  mind,  whipped  by  the  bitterest 
lashes  that  human  mind  can  conjure.  Then  he 
raised  his  chin  from  his  breast  and  rested  his  head 
against  the  back  of  the  chair,  while  his  hands  hung 
loose  at  his  sides. 

His  lips  moved.  "Hope  —  you  will  want  to 
see  her,"  he  repeated  in  a  whisper. 

A  pause,  and  again  words: 

"He  would  n't  even  ask  me  —  would  n't  dream 
I  wanted  to  —  be  there!" 

An  old  man,  you  would  have  said,  old  and 
broken.  The  snap,  the  precision  that  had  been 
his  outstanding  characteristic,  was  gone.  But 
not  for  long.  The  change  came  before  the 
whispering  had  well  died;  the  lines  of  purpose, 
of  decision,  returned  to  his  face,  his  arms  ceased 
to  hang  limp,  the  look  in  the  eyes  —  none  the 
less  warm  —  became  definite,  focused. 

Suddenly  Daniel  Lenox  sat  erect  and  raised 
the  letter  to  the  light  once  more. 

"The  twentieth!"  he  muttered.  "And  this 
is—" 

Another    train    fumed    at    the    distances,    left 


TO    THE   VICTOR  299 

cities  behind,  and  crawled  on  across  prairies  to 
mountain  ranges.  As  it  progressed,  dispatchers, 
one  after  another,  sat  farther  forward  in  their 
chairs  and  the  alert  keenness  of  their  expression 
grew  a  trifle  sharper.  For  the  Lenox  Special, 
New  York  to  Colt,  Colorado,  invited  disaster  with 
every  mile  of  its  frantic  rush  across  country. 
Freights,  passenger  trains,  even  the  widely 
advertised  limiteds,  edged  off  the  tracks  to  let  it 
shriek  on  unhampered. 

In  the  swaying  private  car  sat  the  man  who 
had  caused  all  this  disarray  of  otherwise  neat 
schedules.  At  regular,  short  intervals  his  hand 
traveled  to  watch-pocket  and  his  blue  eyes 
scrutinized  the  dial  of  his  timepiece  as  though 
to  detect  a  lie  in  the  sharp,  frank  characters.  In 
the  other  hand,  much  of  the  time,  were  held 
sheets  of  limp  paper.  They  had  been  folded  and 
smoothed  out  again  so  many  times  and,  though 
he  was  an  old  man  and  one  who  thought  mostly 
in  figures,  fondled  so  much,  that  the  ink  on  them 
'was  all  but  obliterated  in  places. 

He  read  and  reread  what  was  written  there  as 
the  train  tore  over  the  miles,  and  as  he  read  the 
great  warmth  came  back  to  his  eyes.  With 
it,  at  times,  a  fear  came.  When  fear  was  there, 
he  tugged  at  his  watch  again. 

Up  grades,  through  canons,  the  special  roared 
its  way.  At  every  stop  telegrams  zitted  ahead, 
and  hours  before  the  train  was  due  an  automobile 
waited  by  the  depot  platform  at  Colt. 


3oo  "_I   CONQUERED" 

Daniel  Lenox  heeded  not  the  enthusiastic  train 
men  who  held  watches  and  calculated  the  broken 
record  as  brakes  screamed  down  and  the  race  by 
rail  ended.  Bag  in  hand,  he  strode  across  the 
cinder  platform  and  entered  the  waiting  auto 
mobile,  without  a  single  glance  for  the  group  that 
looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"You  know  the  way  to  the  Thorpe  Ranch?" 
he  asked  the  driver  of  the  car. 

"Like  a  book!" 

"Can  you  drive  all  night?" 

"I  can." 

"Good!  We  must  be  there  as  early  to-morrow 
as  possible." 

And  ten  minutes  before  noon  the  next  day  the 
heavy-eyed  driver  threw  out  his  clutch  and  slowed 
the  car  to  a  stop  before  the  S  Bar  S  ranch  house. 
Saddled  horses  were  there,  a  score  of  them  stand 
ing  with  bridle  reins  down.  Sounds  of  lifted 
voices  came  from  the  house,  quickly  lulled  as  an 
exclamation  turned  attention  on  the  arrival. 

From  the  ample  door  came  a  figure  —  tall  and 
lean,  well  poised,  shoulders  square,  feet  firm  on  the 
ground.  Pale,  true,  but  surely  returning  strength 
was  evidenced  in  his  very  bearing.  VB's  lips 
moved.  His  father,  halfway  to  him,  stopped. 

"Dad!" 

"Am  I  on  time?"  queried  the  older  man. 

"Dadl" 

With  a  cry  the  boy  was  up  on  him,  grasping 
both  hands  in  his. 


TO  THE  VICTOR  301 

"I  didn't  —  dare  hope  you'd  want  —  Dad, 
it  makes  me  so  — 

The  other  looked  almost  fiercely  into  the  boy's 
face,  clinging  to  the  hands  that  clutched  his, 
shaking  them  tremblingly  now  and  then.  The 
penetrating  blue  eyes  searched  out  ever}r  line 
in  the  boy's  countenance,  and  the  look  in  them 
grew  to  be  such  as  VB  had  never  seen  before. 

"Did  you  think  I'd  stay  back  there  in  New 
York  and  let  you  do  all  this  alone?  Did  you 
think  I  would  n't  come  on,  in  time  if  I  could,  and 
tell  you  how  ashamed  I  am  to  have  ever  doubted 
you,  my  own  blood,  how  mean  a  thing  was  that 
which  I  thought  was  faith?" 

His  gaze  went  from  VB  to  Gail,  coming  toward 
him  clad  all  in  simple  white,  flushing  slightly  as 
she  extended  her  hand.  He  turned  to  her,  took 
the  hand,  and  looked  deep  into  her  big  eyes. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  words  would  not  come  and 
he  shook  his  head  to  drive  back  the  choking 
emotion. 

"Bless  you!"  he  finally  muttered.  "Bless 
you  both.  You  're  a  man  —  Danny.  And 
you  —  " 

His  voice  failed  again  and  he  could  only  remain 
mute,  stroking  the  girl's  hand. 

Then  Jed  came  up  and  greeted  the  newcomer 
silently,  a  bit  grimly,  as  though  he  had  just  for 
given  him  something. 

"Come  over  here,  you  thi^e,"  said  VB,  and 
led  them  over  to  where  two  horses  stood  together 


302  "_I   CONQUERED" 

One  was  the  bay  the  boy  had  ridden  that  after 
noon  he  charged  down  the  ridge  to  make  the 
great  stallion  his,  and  beside  him,  towering,  head 
up,  alert,  regally  self-conscious,  stood  the  Cap 
tain.  The  bay  bore  VB's  saddle.  On  the  Cap 
tain's  back  perched  one  of  smaller  tree,  silver 
mounted  and  hand  tooled,  with  stirrups  that  were 
much  too  short  for  a  man. 

They  looked  the  great  horse  over  silently, 
moving  about  him  slowly,  and  Danny  pointed  out 
his  fine  physical  qualities  to  his  father.  A  rattling 
of  wheels  attracted  them  and  they  looked  up  to 
see  a  team  of  free-stepping  horses  swing  toward 
them,  drawing  a  light  buckboard.  The  vehicle 
stopped  and  from  it  stepped  a  man  in  the  clothing 
of  a  clergyman. 

"  He 's  here,  VB , "  Jed  muttered.  " To  be  sure, 
an'  he's  got  his  rope  down,  too.  Th'  iron's  hot; 
th'  corral  gate's  open  and  he's  goin'  to  head  you 
in.  'T  ain't  often  you  see  such  a  pair  of  high- 
strung  critters  goin'  in  so  plumb  docile,  Mister 
Lenox!" 

And  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  the  man 
beside  him  wipe  his  hand  across  his  cheek,  as 
though  to  brush  something  away. 

The  Captain  pawed  the  ground  sharply.  Then 
he  lifted  his  head  high,  drew  a  great  breath,  and 
peered  steadily  off  toward  the  distant  ridges, 
eagerly,  confidently,  as  though  he  knew  that  much 
waited  —  out  yonder. 


CALIFORNIA  WESTERN  UNIVERSITY 
RYAN  LIBRARY 


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